Waiting
by cheertennis12
Summary: The hours immediately following Surrender Benson through the eyes of Amanda Rollins. touches of Rollaro beginnings, but none of that lovey-dovey over-the-top sappy stuff, I promise.
1. Chapter 1

**I need to finish things before I start new ones, but BLAME LUCYSPENCER and her whole "you should write it" reply to my tweet. THere, I said it, it's her fault. **

**This is intended to be a "Rollaro beginnings" story, but I promise, not in a lovey-dovey, boyfriend/girlfriend relationship. It'll be what we've seen on the show, two people driven together out of a mutual tragedy. So even if you're not a Rollaro fan, keep reading, because I promise I'll keep it classy :)**

**If you want more, let me know! **

* * *

You were seven years old, waiting on supper, and every night was always _Mandy, darlin', a watched pot never boils. You keep starin' at that stove and it'll never finish. Now run along and play with Kim _and you'd run outside with your sister until you heard your mother's voice carrying through the community of doublewide trailers beckoning you for supper.

Those were simpler times, back before your dad took off, and your mama decided medication just wasn't for her and your sister started acting like she owned the world without consequence, and you had to grow up way too soon.

You'd give anything to go back to those days.

You lift your eyes from the magazine draped in your lap to check the clock on the wall in front of you. _9:45pm._ You let out a quiet sigh, because it seemed like 9:30 passed by about three hours ago. The minutes tick by painfully slow, and tonight was an unwelcome reminder that the standstill created by watching wasn't exclusive to cooking.

The moment Cragen got the call, _we've got her, she's alive, we're coming back to the city, _you'd both taken off and raced to meet them at the hospital. Lewis had been carted off to the closest hospital, in bad shape from what you've been able to piece together so far, but they'd pushed to bring Olivia back to the city for treatment. Back to familiarity, and as far away from that monster as you all could get her. You caught a glimpse of the stretcher as they'd whisked Olivia in through the double doors of the ambulance bay, and the solemn expressions of Nick and Fin as they'd traipsed in behind her told you everything you needed to know.

You're all here now, you and Cragen and Nick and Fin, even Brian Cassidy. Everyone except for Munch. He'd volunteered to hold down the fort at the precinct, to be the voice to the media so the rest of you could be here. You knew it was his own private way of coping, and you respected his need for seclusion. As for the rest of you, you're camped out across the ER waiting room, waiting for the news that you'll never be prepared to hear, and you're not even sure if you want to. Then, there will be no going back.

You've been settled in the same chair for hours, with your legs curled up under you and your head propped up on your elbow. Flipping through a six month old copy of People magazine was the only thing keeping you sane, but even that was debatable at this point. At least it made you look busy, because you certainly weren't in the mood for conversation.

You knew what was going on in that hospital room, aside from the expected suturing and X-rays and CT scans. It broke your heart and churned your stomach all at the same time, because you _knew_ Lewis's MO, and you also knew she was all alone back there. _It's what she wants_, the nurse had come out and told your Captain apologetically, but she'd assured you all that she was being well taken care of, and the proper chain of command would be followed with the evidence.

The _evidence. _

Part of you had been relieved. As the only other female detective in the unit, you were terrified that it may fall on you to chaperone the exam and take responsibility for the contents, and you didn't think you could do that. It didn't matter that you'd done it hundreds of times before. This was _Olivia Benson_'s rape kit. You couldn't wrap your mind around it, and you didn't want to. There's so many questions running through your mind, but you can't bring yourself to ask any of them from Nick and Fin right now. _Where did you find her? How did you find her? What did you see? Is he—Was she…? Did she say…? _

"Hey, man, what the—!" The sickening sound of a skin connecting against bone jolts you from your thoughts, and you look up just in time to see Brian Cassidy stumbling backwards, his hand flying to his jaw as Nick rubs his knuckles.

"_That's enough_! Both of you." Before you can even react, Cragen is right in the middle of the action, extending his arms to separate the scene taking place over by the vending machines. He waves off the swarm of security guards reacting to the disruption by flashing his badge and assuring them that he has this under control, before dropping his voice and turning his attention back to the feud in front of him. "When is the last time either of you slept?"

The enervation in his voice shows through despite his best efforts to sound commanding. Brian and Nick look at each other, then to the captain, and you half expect them to start pointing fingers and name calling in line with the juvenile actions they've just displayed. Instead, they remain eerily silent, chests heaving as they continue to glare at each other. Your eyes are glued to the scene by this point, and you can't help but take in the exhaustion written all over your captain's face. The last four days seem to have aged him ten years, and you're sure you could probably say the same for all of you right now.

"Okay." Cragen lets out a deep sigh and scrubs his hand across his face. "Cassidy, go take a walk." He nods towards the exit doors, and when Brian opens his mouth in protest, he holds out his hand in a firm gesture of I'm-not-messing-around.

As Brian sulks toward the door, the Captain turns his attention back to Nick. "Detective Amaro, go home." He says, firmly but with an unmistakable touch of sympathy, before lifting his head to acknowledge you and Fin in the background. "You too… Fin, Amanda. All of you, go home."

All three of you look at him, wide-eyed, because you can't imagine being anywhere but here right now. It just wouldn't feel right, when one of your own is fighting so desperately, but before you can even begin to object, he cuts you off. "Let's give Olivia some privacy tonight. She knows you're all here, and that you care, but she needs… some space. Cassidy is here—" Your eyes dart to Nick and you fully expect to see some look of disgust, but he maintains that same blank expression. "—and I have to stay and take care of department paperwork and the media frenzy for the time being. You three have done excellent work the last few days, and Liv— and _I _appreciate it. It's been hard on all of us, and these next few weeks will not be easy either. But there's nothing you all can do tonight. So, go home."

You exchange glances with Fin. Arguing with Cragen is futile at best, and there's a part of you that doesn't even want to, because what would you even _say_ to Olivia if you did get to see her tonight?_ Hey, remember that time I decided to play off-duty cop in the park? Sorry it got you kidnapped, and probably raped, and almost killed. Glad it was you and not me, even though I don't understand why. _

Cragen sends you off with a goodbye, before leading Nick off to talk privately with him in the corner, assumedly some be-nice-to-Cassidy-we're-all-here-for-the-same-reason speech. You reluctantly toss that damn magazine back on the side table and slide out of the chair, stretching a bit to alleviate that stiffness that those quick two-hour naps in the cribs have created in your muscles. Fin waits as you pack up what little belongings you have with you and sling your back over your shoulder before trailing him out the door.

Your steps match his as but you're both silent for awhile. What is there even to _say _right now. Your mind can't even begin to wrap itself around what's taken place the past four days, but you know that your life, and your squad has been shaken to the core and fundamentally changed forever.

"Hey…" Fin turns to you, and notices the tears collected in your eyes. "You want to go get a drink?"

A drink. That's what the two of you had been carelessly doing the night after William Lewis walked away, scot-free after his previous trial, wasn't it? The night you assume he'd abducted Olivia, you don't even know the timeline. There's _so_ _much_ you don't know about what has just happened, and so much you know you'll never know, much less understand. But you'd been talking, laughing, and getting a little bit drunk with your partner while your coworker was fighting for her life.

You consider his offer, but you eventually bite your lip and shake your head. "Rain check? I think I need a meeting…" You finally choke out, and it's true, you do desperately _need_ a meeting, but whether you'll actually go is a whole different story. You haven't stepped foot in your apartment since Thursday morning when you'd scurried out the door, late for work. It's Saturday night now, you think, and although it was your saving grace that you had a neighbor with a key who was willing to take care of Frannie when you couldn't, you knew that you needed to get home to her. Some puppy kisses might do wonders to make you feel better, now that you think about it.

"Liv's tough. She'll be okay, 'Manda." Fin says with a solemn nod, as his eyes meet yours. You know he's trying to sound reassuring, maybe even as much for his own sake as for yours, and you know he's probably right in the end, but the process it will take to get there is what scares you.


	2. Chapter 2

**Wasn't sure I was going to get this done today, but thankfully it decided to cooperate! As promised, no lovey-dovey sappy Rollaro, just awkward and canon, just like like the show. Would love to know what you think.**

**Also, thank you to lucyspencer (still, blame her) and Nightwitch87 and skydala for listening to me whine when this chapter wasn't doing what I wanted it to. You girls are wonderful! **

* * *

Fin had offered you a ride home, to the subway, to the precinct, to_ anywhere_, but you just needed to be alone. You'd told him that, and he'd pushed harder than normal, but you understood why. It took heavy reassurance that you'd travelled this route without incident more times than you could remember to finally convince him to leave you be.

_Olivia had entered her apartment safely more times than she could count too_, he reminded you, and your breath hitched in the back of throat at the reminder. Too soon.

You stand on the curb and watch him drive off, keeping your eyes fixed on the vehicle until the taillights are out of sight. Finally you're alone, and it's the first time in days that you haven't felt the need to maintain some sort of front. Letting out a deflated sigh, you shove your hands in your pockets and turn on your heels, taking off in the opposite direction. You decide on the long way home, because you know once you hit the F-train it's all hustle and bustle and confinement. There's something oddly calming about the fresh air of city that never sleeps, and you need that tonight.

You make it a block and a half before your ears pick up an unidentified racket coming from the alleyway ahead. A series of crashes and grunts and yells send a shiver down your spine, and put you on even more on edge than this week already has. You take a few more steps before stopping cautiously for a better look. Someone could be in trouble. Someone could be getting hurt, and maybe this time you could do something about it, or help, or just… _something_.

Pushing back the hem of your blazer jacket, you instinctively reach for your gun, only to be reminded that you'd left it locked in your desk at the precinct in your rush to get to the hospital that afternoon. _Shit, _but that doesn't change your duty to serve and protect.

"_Hey_! _Police_!" You identify yourself from a safe distance away on the sidewalk, flashing the only armament you have in your possession: your badge. Your hand starts to shake as you hold the shield out in front of you, because this time, you're terrified by the what-if's like never before. The last time you played Good Samaritan while you were off-duty, it introduced you to a man named William Lewis. You never expected that split-second decision would change the world as you knew it forever.

You push the fears out of your head and take a few steps forward, bringing the scene into view a little more clearly. A shadow delivers blow after blow to an empty trashcan, crumpling it like an empty soda can, and you tense up a bit. It looks like a man, someone bigger than you. Stronger than you, maybe faster than you. _Someone who could overpower you._ Your heart begins to race as you consider the implications of yet another rash decision, but there's no turning back now.

"_Police, freeze_!" You call again, a little more of that trepidation weaving its way into your voice, _damn_ _it_. The figure in front of you lifts the trash can above his head and hurls it forward, the crash startling you nearly out of your skin. He wipes his hands against each other, then against his pants before storming towards you, all the while scoffing in disgust.

You draw in a sharp breath, taking a cautious step backwards and lowering your badge. You could run right now; you could run and nobody would know you were ever here, nobody would know you panicked, that you couldn't—_wait_.

"Nick…?" You cock your head and say a prayer, hoping to God that you're right and the dark-headed, seething man approaching you is really him.

"Fuck off, Amanda." He growls through gritted teeth as he brushes past you, and it stops you dead in your tracks. As relieved as you are to know the danger was all contrived in your imagination, when has he ever talked that way to you? When has he ever talked that way to _anyone_?

"Hey…" You dart back onto the sidewalk and you're chasing after him before you even have time to consider how bad of an idea it may be to do so in his current state. In _both_ of your current states. He's fuming halfway down the block by now, and it might just be your imagination, but his pace seems to quicken a bit at the sound of your voice, and he moves deliberately towards the squad car you see parked up ahead.

"Come on, Nick." You call again, this time with a hint of desperation tinting your tone. Your feet hit the pavement with a little more determination, and once again, your years of service on the Loganville High Cross Country team serve you well. In no time, you're matching him step for step, trying to talk him off of the figurative ledge and gain some sort of grasp on what's going on as he trudges on, paying no notice to your efforts.

"You know what?" He finally whirls around, having enough of your attempts to talk him down. "What the _hell_ were you thinking, Rollins? Going after a disturbance by yourself? Without backup? Do you even have your fucking gun?!" He spits angrily, getting up in your face in the process. A little too close for comfort.

You take a step back in recoil. You've seen him angry before, but it's always been righteous, and never directed at you. The anger, the bitterness, the blaming; that's Atlanta, not New York. And it's not Nick either, and you _know_ that, but no amount of justification stands to make his reaction hurt any less. You push the initial temptations of retaliation out of your mind and try to understand his hurt. He's worried, he's scared, and he cares about Olivia. You all do, and tensions are higher than they've ever been.

You wish you could say there was an end in sight.

Ignoring your own pain, you decide to take a chance. You bring a hand up to lightly squeeze his shoulder. He needs to know you're here, you're listening, and you're not going anywhere. You're in this together. "This isn't your fault, Nick." You tell him in a voice barely above a whisper. Your eyes meet his, and for a split second, they lock with such intensity that it makes you squirm. It's easier to tell Nick that it's not his fault than to believe it's not your own.

"I'm sorry, Amanda, I'm sor—" He brings his hands up to cover his face, and before you know it, he's breaking down in front of you. Nick Amaro, the NYPD Detective, the fiery protector, stands in front of you with his shoulders slumped and shaking, and your eyes widen in disbelief, because this was the _last_ think you'd ever expect after his violent outbursts and his verbal explosion on you not even two minutes ago.

But his unexpected reaction triggers something in your heart, and it breaks into a thousand pieces for him. You know he's much closer to Olivia than you are, he's her _partner_, and the amount of self-blame he must be struggling with is unfathomable. It's a feeling you understand too well, because after all, Liv never would have been targeted by Lewis if you hadn't neglected Frannie all week and felt guilty enough to take her to the park for an extending morning run. If you'd walked her down to the river instead… hell, if you'd even drug your ass out of bed two hours earlier and gotten a more ambitious start to your day, you could have been in and out of the park without incident.

But you hadn't, and Nick hadn't, and that was something you would both have to shoulder for the rest of your lives. You weren't sure how you would ever learn to live with it, how to brush it aside and go about your normal lives and not allow that guilt to consume your every waking thought like it had since the moment you discovered your sister in blue missing.

You weren't sure if you could ever expect Olivia's forgiveness.

Your hand slides down to caress Nick's elbow, mulling over how to react. With each passing second of watching the man in front of you come unglued, the knife is shoved further and further into your own heart. You finally succumb to the emotion you've spent so much time learning to conceal, leaning in closer and wrapping your arms tightly around him. You bury your face in his shoulder and match his sobs with gasps of your own as he reciprocates the grip and your bodies meld together. The physical contact is more intimate than you'd normally permit with a coworker, _especially_ after the disaster that was Atlanta, but it's a comfort you need to ground you tonight.

"Do you need to get home?" Nick murmurs into your hair after awhile as he continues to hold you tightly on the city street.

You pull back a bit and wipe your eyes as you look up at his tear-stained face. You'd just turned down an invitation from Fin mere minutes before, but that was different. You couldn't let Nick be alone right now; you couldn't let him return to an empty apartment in his current state. He didn't need to be alone right now, and as much as you'd tried to deny it, neither did you. You finally bite your lip and shake your head.

"Want to go get a drink?"


	3. Chapter 3

The plan was never to bring Nick into your apartment in the first place. Your too-small third floor walkup looked like a tornado swept up a train wreck, hardly in any condition for company. You'd taken Frannie to the park last Sunday, and then your intentions had been to come home and straighten the place up, but your plans had quickly been thrown awry when—_No no no._ _Stop thinking about it, Amanda. _

There was a bar around the corner from your place, where you'd spent many a midnight nursing a drink after a particularly heart-wrenching case. The guys who ran the place, they'd quickly become your friends, and while you could appreciate a little teasing here and there of _You need a man in your life, Amanda _and _When are you going to bring a someone here with you, girl?_, their latest fixation on finding you a companion was becoming a little too… something.

On second thought, maybe bringing your male coworker in the company of your overzealous bartenders wasn't such a great idea, but by the time you'd come to your senses, you were already in the passenger seat, heading to your side of town.

…

"Frannie?" He turns to you for confirmation, and when you nod, he squats down and scratches her furiously behind the ears. "Hey girl… do you remember me?"

You chuckle a bit as Frannie attacks his face with kisses, and use the opportunity to toss some empty takeout containers in the trash and kick some dirty clothes under the couch in the interest of making your home look a _little_ less embarrassing.

"I think you've made a friend," you turn your attention back to the pair and take a moment to appreciate the interaction before granting him a reprieve from the dog slobber. You pull your girl off of him and grab her leash to run her outside for a quick walk; it's the whole reason you'd brought Nick to this side of town in the first place. You direct him to your alcohol stash and promise you'll be right back, _make yourself at home._

Your feet hit the concrete outside and you throw your head back, letting out a deep sigh as Frannie sniffs at a neighboring lamppost. This didn't feel real, not one bit.

…

"Never would have picked you as a Blue Moon kind of girl." He spins around to greet you as you reenter the apartment. You quickly herd Frannie into the bedroom and shut the door quietly behind you, praying that she'd stop whimpering sooner rather than later.

"Look harder, Amaro. There's more in the back." You smirk, reaching behind the beer to grab what you're really looking for, the stuff that'll make you forget. Your apartment may be void of groceries and household necessities, but your alcohol stash was always on point, that you made sure of. You relied on it for nights like tonight, when the darkness of a case consumed your heart and soul and all you wanted was to forget.

You walk over to the cabinet and pull out two glasses, filling them both with a hefty dose of liquid amnesia. You know yourself, and you think you know Amaro well enough to know it's what you both need tonight, even if it's only a reprieve of a few hours. He's splayed out on the couch now, his tie loosened and his shoes kicked to the side. He'd taken your instruction to make himself at home quite literally, but you find it quite charming that he's comfortable enough around you and your abode to relax a bit. You hand him his portion, then plop onto the opposite end of the couch and flip on the television.

"Sportscenter?" He raises an eyebrow when you finally settle on a channel, and you're not sure if it's a jibe in light of your past, or just legitimate surprise at your TV choice as a female, but you choose to ignore his comment. You don't want to find out. You're a Georgia girl, of _course_ you watch ESPN, especially when your Braves are getting some attention.

You let out an unexpected squeal when the score of tonight's game flashes across the screen and the announcer comments on Atlanta's 6-0 win over the Mets, bringing them to eight in a row. _Eight in a row _would normally have you dancing, but this time_,_ you had no idea. Your precious team had been the last thing on your mind this week, but now, it's the first thing to elicit a smile from you all day. On the other hand, you'd forgotten that the rest of your squad were diehard Mets fan, and you look over to find Nick rolling his eyes at you.

"Don't be a sore loser, Amaro." You tease, jabbing an elbow into his side.

"Hey, hey… come on, Rollins. I'm a Yankees fan!" He swats your hand away, and then throws his hands up in surrender before you have a chance to retaliate. You explode into a fit of giggles, and eventually, it spreads to him and he finally concedes until he's laughing right along with you. It feels _good_ to expel some of the tension that's built up over the past four days. If you're not laughing, you're fighting off tears, and you'll choose the former for now, because the art of avoidance is your specialty.

As you come back down and your laughs fade to an occasional snicker, that same thickness returns to the air. It's not awkward per say; Nick's a friend, although not someone you've often chosen to socialize with one-on-one. You're torn between so desperately wanting to break the silence and actually _talk_ through the elephant in the room, but you know the second you do, this composure you've both worked so hard to build is out the window yet again.

"So, have you had a dog for awhile?" He fumbles around for another safe topic, some type of common ground besides the job and Olivia and the past four days, and it's then that you're certain that he feels it too.

"Um, two years, maybe a little more." You shrug, thankful that he's made the effort to keep this effortless. In all actuality, you know _exactly _how long you've had a dog. You'd gone to the Atlanta Humane Society eleven days after you'd found yourself in that motel with your boss, when you couldn't sleep and every little bump in the night put you on edge. "I left her with a friend in Atlanta for awhile when I moved up here, just brought her to New York a few months ago. After everything with Kim and with… uh, Parker and Murphy, it's nice having her around."

"Well… Zara, she wants a puppy…"

"Oh?" You raise an eyebrow. You'd never pictured Nick as an animal man. "Are you and Maria going to do it?" _You and Maria, _you silently kick yourself, because you're not so sure what's left of him and his wife as a joint entity.

He sighs. "Maybe one day, if she and Maria ever move back to the city. But now… I barely see her as it is; one weekend a month in New York and one in DC… I'd be stuck taking care of the damn thing all the time and she'd see it a couple days a month." You hum in agreement, realizing you knew very little about Nick's personal life or his custody arrangement.

"Yeah, it's hard sometimes. My neighbor—" You wave your hand as to gesture to the unit across the hall, where your 60-something retired godsend lives. "—she helps out a lot… lets her out when I'm at work, she's fed her and walked her and done everything for the past few days when I haven't been home…" Your voice trails off when you realize where you're heading—right back to square one, the all-consuming topic you're both fighting to avoid.

It's ridiculous and you know it, to be getting emotional even over a simple remark about not being home. You spent long nights at work and left Mrs. Rogers to take care of Frannie all the time_; _it's not like the comment automatically ties back to _that_. But in your mind, it does, because right now _everything_ does.

"Amanda…?" You hear a distant voice, but you stare straight ahead, tugging your lip in between your teeth. You know the second you look at him, you're powerless to stop the flood of emotion. You hold your eyes open as they fill with tears, refusing to blink and give way for them to slip down your cheek.

"Hey… Amanda." He says again, and _damn it Amaro,_ just when you thought it couldn't be any harder to hold it together.

"Do you think she will be okay?" You whisper, your voice still cracking as you choke out the words.

You both know your version of _okay_ stretches far beyond the physical. The bruises would fade, the bones would heal, but the mental and emotional toll the past four days would stand to take remained unseen.

And neither of you have an answer.

He throws an arm around you and pulls you in, and you bask in the physical contact as you both fall apart yet again. The pain comes in waves, ebbing and flowing on until those times it takes you by surprise and crashes over you, and you can't help but to let it drag you back out into the deep. You're back to where you started, on that quiet side street where you clung to each other for dear life. You lift your head and your eyes meet his, and before you know it, you're acting on impulse, doing the only thing you can think—or _not_ think.

You kiss him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Praise the Lord for a day on call and some unexpected writing time, and special thanks to PaperFrames for talking me through some of the highlights of this chapter. I hope you guys are satisfied with this chapter**

**If you've taken the time to read this, I'd love for you to leave a quick review and tell me your opinion, or find me on twitter with the same username, CHEERTENNIS12 **

* * *

You kiss him.

It's not like you'd never thought about it before. Nick Amaro was an attractive man; there was no denying that. You'd caught yourself sneaking glances over to his desk, studying those _eyes_, and those _hands_, and that _smile_… of course you'd thought about it.

But he's _married, _filing for divorce for all you knew, but _MARRIED, _Amanda. Your brain screams at you to _think_, but tonight, the instinct, the hurt, and the desperation to feel _something _other than the tidal wave of guilt and the heartbreaking realization that nothing will ever be the same wins over the logic that's always kept those covert desires in check.

But the relief is short-lived, and reality sets in quickly when your damn sensibility comes creeping in and you realize what the hell you'd just done. Sometimes, you just wish your morality had an off switch. But it _doesn't_, and you're locking lips with your _partner_ [who, by the way, is _STILL MARRIED_ – did you already forget?] and oh shit. You start to pull away, wide-eyed and apologetic, until he takes you by surprise and brings a hand behind your neck, stilling your escape and deepening the kiss.

You'd been a little gun-shy when it came to intimacy ever since things went south in Atlanta. In fact, you had steered clear completely for the past two years, placing a self-imposed moratorium on inviting men into your bed, and really, even into your life if they didn't have a badge resting on their hip. The thought of being touched _like_ _that_ still made you want to squirm, and it was hard to train your brain that things were okay now when words like _slut_ and _whore_ had been so undeservingly thrown in your face before by people who'd only heard half of a story.

But man oh _man_, could this man kiss.

He finally pulls back, and his chest is heaving just as hard as yours in a desperate plea for oxygen. His eyes connect with yours and that look he give you burns with such intensity and desire, it's enough to make you squeeze your thighs together. A smile slowly lights up his face, and he grins at you like a teenage boy alone with his girlfriend for the first time. His hand grazes across your cheek, down your arm, and finally comes to rest on your hip. The touch sends shivers up your spine, and it makes you feel so incredibly good, almost enough to forget that there was a part of this that was wrong, so wrong. What would Cragen say if he knew what you were doing right now? What about Fin, or even Liv?

_… Liv_

Your eyes fall to his lips now, and you wonder what it would be like to be with him. Just this once. After everything the two of you have been through the past two years in this unit, and _especially_ in the past four days, didn't you deserve a one-time free pass?

Yes. You did.

One brief moment of hesitation, and his lips crash into yours yet again, taking you by such delectable surprise. This time it's harder, more frenzied, a little rough for your taste given your past in Atlanta, but it feels nothing but right. He coaxes you backward on the couch until he's hovering over you, not once breaking the contact. _You want this_. And you weren't entirely sure if sober, stoic, rational Amanda would feel the same way in the morning, but for now, this was what you needed and you could worry about the consequences when the time came.

He runs his hands down your torso until he finds yours, grabbing them and lacing his fingers through your own. He presses your joint limbs into the couch cushions as he shifts more of his weight on top of you and his mouth continues its assault down to the pulse point on your neck. You go to move, now with the urgent need to touch him, to feel his unshaven stubble under your fingertips.

But it's then that you realize you can't. He has you pinned underneath his weight, your arms immobilized, and now you remember exactly why it's taken so long for you to jump back in the saddle, and Everything. Comes. Flooding. Back.

"Wait… wait." You stop him, your breath coming out in short, frantic gasps. Memories of that night erupt in your thoughts, of you begging him to slow down and_ Amanda, darlin', I thought we had a deal here. And I believe I've already held up my end. You know I don't take no for an answer. _You squeeze your eyes shut and try to breathe deeply and avoid a full-blown panic attack.

Nick quickly springs into action and shifts his weight off of you as quickly as he can manage, and you're thankful for his sentience, even if he has no idea of the cause behind it. You pray he doesn't, at least, and you sure don't have any intentions of indulging him any explanation. You open your eyes again, and blink a few times to bring him slowly back into focus.

"Sorry, I should… go." He fumbles. His cheeks flush a brilliant shade of crimson at the perceived rejection, but when he moves to stand, you quickly stop him.

"No!... don't…." You start off quickly, then your tone drops to soft reassurance as you sit up and inch backwards, leaning against the armrest. You want this, you really do, it's just too fast and it's rough and you need to ease yourself back into this. "It's just… been awhile." You try to duck your head to hide your embarrassment, but his finger catches your chin and brings it back until your eyes are once again locked. He brings his hand up to gently brush a stray lock of hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear.

"Yeah, um… I know what you mean." He offers a shy grin, and you mirror it back. You hadn't given much though to that part—Nick's a good guy. A little rough around the edges at times, but all in all, you'd bet he hadn't been with another woman since he met Maria. This is uncharted territory for him too. _Maria… Stop thinking about it, 'Mand. He's shown you he's okay with this, they're separated, he wants this as badly as you do, Don't. Think. _

The next move has to be yours, and you know it; You have to show him that you're okay and this is okay. So, you lace your fingers behind his neck and pull him back towards you, kissing him soft and slow and at your own pace, and keeping your focus trained on the feel of his lips against yours. And much to your delight, he begins to play with the hem of your shirt.

You whimper involuntarily as he slips a cold hand under the fabric and splays his fingers out across the skin of your stomach. When you don't shy away, he grips your hips a little harder and kisses you a little more urgently. You _want _fast and rough and desperate, an outlet for all of the pent-up hurt and fear and anger from this week, but you know you can't be all of that for him right now, not when the last time you've been here was so destructive. You trust Nick, but it's yourself that you're scared of.

"You sure?" He rasps into your ear, his hot breath hitting the back of your neck and sending shivers up your spine. The desire in his voice is so raw, so palpable that you'd be inclined to say yes to _anything_ right now, damn the consequences.

"Just… not too fast, okay?" You whisper, then you turn your head and you capture his lips one last time with such intensity that everything else is forgotten.


	5. Chapter 5

**Pure Rollaro awkwardness, you're welcome! And no, to answer questions I got from the last chapter, this isn't the end. I don't actually know when the end will be; this might carry all the way through Season 15. As long as y'all are still reading, reviewing, and enjoying and I have ideas, I'm game for anything! **

**Find me on twitter, I'm cheertennis12 there as well! **

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You sleep straight til morning, a combination of exhaustion and alcohol and maybe just not being alone anymore. It's a ringing cell phone that finally draws you back to reality, a sound that your splitting headache certainly does not appreciate at this time of morning.

_Ouch_. You try to lift your head, and every movement sends searing pain reverberating through your skull. What the _hell _did you do before bed last night, and can someone _please_ turn off that damn phone?

It's not your ringtone, but it's familiar and you hate it. It's the same one that Nick Amaro has used since you met him, one of the classic iPhone sounds that mimicked an old rotary phone, and ugh, you hated that noise. It reminded you of Loganville, and all of the times your family's landline would ring for bad news – the bookies hunting down your father, your sister using her one call to ask someone to bail her out of jail again, the school calling to tattle to your mother that you'd skipped another eight hours of torture—or even worse, you'd been caught swapping spit with the quarterback behind the bleachers after football practice.

Apple gave fifty-two other options for ringtones, and you'll never understand why people were determined to pick the most obnoxious one.

It's then that you feel another body shifting under you, and the obvious finally clicks in your mind – you're not alone. There's someone else in your bed, someone who you're cuddled with, curled up against and resting your head against his chest.

Hmm.

There's a certain air of pride about it for you at first, that you'd apparently conquered your fears and jumped back in the saddle after two years of celibacy. You flex your hand just enough to feel his chiseled pecs underneath your fingertips, and imagine what kind of fine specimen of a man you'd walked away with last night, before you open your eyes and remove all doubt to find he's just some average joe who looked like Benedict Cumberbatch with some alcohol in your system. You'd just enjoy it for one more second before you had to do the awkward "morning after" song and dance and send him packing.

You groan a little bit as he untangles himself from you and fumbles around the nightstand for his phone, _finally_ silencing the damn thing.

_"Amaro."_

Your eyes snap open. Wait... did he say…. Oh no. Oh no no no, _Amanda_, no you didn't. You draw in a sharp breath and pry one eye open, afraid of what you just might find.

_"Captain…."_

Oh, this is nice. A phone call from the boss while the two of you are in bed together. Oh shit, Amanda, way to go.

But now, what you're acutely aware of is your exposed body pressed up against his. And you need _out_. You let out an exaggerated yawn and smoothly roll over to face the other direction, perhaps overplaying the guise of sleep, but whatever. That's the least of your worries right now. You stare wide-eyed at the wall, hanging on to the conversation going on behind you and trying desperately to decode the exchange between your partner and your superior officer.

_"Okay... Okay... Yeah. How is she?... Oh. What time?….. We'll be there. Yeah. Okay, and I'll tell Rollins. See you this afternoon."_

He'll tell Rollins _what_? Is he intending to parade this little dalliance around the precinct? God, Nick, could you _be_ anymore obvious?

You hear him set the phone back down on the nightstand and let out a sigh. Of all of the men you've found yourself in bed with, even during your promiscuous phase in college, this one definitely takes the cake when it comes to morning-after mortification. At least when your consensual encounters are the only ones being considered.

"Amanda?" He calls gently, his voice still laced with sleep. You hear his every word, but you're not ready for this. However futile it may be, you'll put this off as long as you can and relish the additional time before you have to face the consequences.

"Hey, Amanda. Wake up." His voice is a little louder this time.

Feigning sleep is useless. You'll never be ready, and you know the next step; he'll reach over and touch you, shake your shoulders like he would to force one of his kids out of bed. And you sure as hell don't want any hands fumbling under the covers when you're both lying here naked and unfortunately sober.

You put on a game face and begrudgingly roll over to face him and get this over with. Despite matted hair, morning breath, and smeared makeup, it was time to put on your big girl panties (in fact, any panties at all would be helpful), and deal with it.

You manage to squeak out a simple "_hey_" and offer a tight smile, clutching the covers tightly around you. He smiles back, and as you make eye contact, your mind is flooded with the images of him hovering above you, sucking on your neck, nibbling your ear, sliding his hands across the sensitive skin of your stomach. You quickly look away, your stomach flip-flopping as your cheeks flush a brilliant shade of crimson.

"Um, who was on the phone?" You finally work up the nerve to say something, even if it's to ask a question you already know the answer to. You've got to do _something_ to keep the conversation moving, because otherwise, your mind won't stay away from ruminating on those damn abs that are right there on display in front of you, with the covers delicately draped over only the necessities.

"Cragen. Liv's getting released this afternoon; she's going to come to the precinct to give her statement. Cap wants us to be there, let her see that we're keeping things as normal as possible. And in case the detectives have any more questions for us after talking to her."

You silently nod. "How is she…?" You ask quietly, not really sure if you want to know the answer.

"Pretty rough; Lewis really did a number on her. A concussion, broken wrist, broken ribs..." He trails off, and for the first time this morning, his calm, cool, and collected front dissipates.

You clear your throat. "Did we know if he—"

"No. I mean, Cragen didn't say..." He knows what you're asking, and you're glad you don't have to formulate the words. You don't want to know, but there's a part of you that has to, or at least has to be let off the hook of that responsibility in believing it.

Last night, the two of you betrayed all trust and screwed each other senseless while Olivia Benson laid in a hospital bed, broken in more ways than one.

The harsh realization settles over you both. You lay in silence now, the air pregnant with words that you knew needed to be brought forth, and understanding that had to be concluded before either of you could crawl out of this bed in good conscience. You roll back onto your back, smoothing down the covers across your midsection as you work up the nerve to break the ice.

"So, last night—" Nick beats you to it.

"Yeah." You cut him off quickly, and he graciously backs down to give you the floor. You're not sure where you're going quite yet, but you sure as hell don't want to risk him finishing that sentence before you have a chance to lay out your conditions for him. "We were drunk, we were upset, it... happened. It's was a one-time thing; we don't have to talk about it. No harm, no foul, right? " You clutch the top of the comforter to prevent it from sliding down your bare chest as you shrug, trying your best to remain nonchalant, like this happens all the time and it doesn't fundamentally change things between the two of you.

He slowly nods in agreement, and you think you see a look of disappointment flicker across his face, but it disappears just as quickly as it came. You _can't._

"Cragen wants us there at two." He changes the subject, because that's it. That's all you need to say. It happened, it's done, and it's time to close the chapter and find some way to move forward, both from your moment of weakness and from the rubble of William Lewis.

He sits up, the covers sliding down and pooling at his lap, and once again, those damn abs. He glances back and catches you staring at him, drinking in one last look at his well-defined figure. Your cheeks flame red yet again when you realize you've been discovered; Embarrassment is becoming familiar territory for you. He meets you with a smile, and those _eyes_, those big brown eyes, damn it, and the way he looks at you. You're torn between wanting him to go, and never wanting this moment to end, because despite the humiliating circumstances, isn't this what you've imagined all along?

"Um, do you… mind?" He blushes, then nods toward the floor where your clothing lies in a collective heap.

"Oh... yeah." You mumble, throwing a hand up to shield your eyes in the name of modesty as he quickly slides out of bed and collect his clothing.

He never needs to know about the final, lingering, harmless look you took of that perfectly sculpted ass as he reaches down to grab his boxers and slides them on.


	6. Chapter 6

**I feel like a broken record, but once again, thanks so much for your positive feedback for this story! I'm so excited to have written a version of Rollaro that you guys both find credible and likable, even to the people who don't normally ship them.**

**As always, reviews make me smlie!**

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A strange sense of déjà vu accompanied you as you stepped foot into the precinct a few hours later. You'd all but lived there for a week, and you'd run out so quickly when that phone call came yesterday that your desk was still littered with open casefiles and a half-empty coffee mug. It felt like you'd never left, yet so much had transpired in the past twenty four hours you barely remember being here.

Aside from Cragen, you're the first one to arrive, but you don't understand how. In the typical girly fashion that rarely suits you, you spent nearly an hour getting ready for work, a far cry from your normal throw-your-hair-up-and-go routine. Finding a blouse that covered the blatant markings that you carried on your collarbone as a result of your midnight romp but still accentuated what minimal curves you had proved inherently difficult, but you were up for the challenge. It wasn't all for Nick, of _course_ not, you just wanted to look and feel good in some rare show of self-respect. At least that's what you told yourself.

You pull out your chair and attempt to tidy up your normally pristine workstation. Fin walks in before you've even had a chance to sit down, and you exchange stiff hello's, the exhaustion evident in both of your voices. It's Sunday afternoon, a day that you'd anticipated having off to recover before Cragen's early morning phone call had abruptly changed your plans. _This is for Liv. We're here for Liv,_ you told yourself over and over like a broken record, but it did little to change your sullen attitude. Of course, being only moments away from having to face Nick did little to improve your spirits either.

As soon as he had shut the door behind him this morning, your panic had increased tenfold. Maybe another spin on déjà vu was a better way to describe it. You'd crawled into bed with _another_ _coworker_, Amanda, did Atlanta not teach you _anything_ about mixing work and play?

_If this gets out…_

You try to tell yourself no, this is different. This was two consenting adults who had made a conscious, albeit emotional and intoxicated decision to sleep together. Nick was kind and respectful toward you; there was no blackmail, no ulterior motives, no under-the-table agreements involved. There was communication, and there was _consent._ Still, it doesn't alter the facts at their core. You _can't_ do this again.

…

[I need to talk to you]

Nick arrives a few moments later, catching your eye as soon as he walks in the door. His gaze is warm and sympathetic, and you wonder if inside, he's really as collected as he's trying to play it off. Still, you can't shake your fear of the rumor mill, and although you'd planned _never _to speak of this again with Nick Amaro, you'll never be able to rest easy until you have one final word. You type the text out quickly, then hit the send button before you have a chance to reconsider.

His reply comes within seconds, and you can feel his eyes bearing on you from across the room. You grab your phone without looking up. [Cribs in 5?]

Reluctantly, you lift your eyes and nod your agreement.

...

Nick slips out first and you leave soon after, careful to give enough space so as not to look suspicious. You meet him in the cribs as planned, where he immediately greets you with that same damn smile, the I've-seen-you-naked smile_, _and it's all you can do not to melt in front of him and slap him all at the same time.

You waste no time in cutting to the chase. "Um, last night… do you think… we can keep it between us?" You ask, digging your fingernails into the palm of your hand in an effort to keep your shaking stilled and your thoughts grounded.

He folds his arms and leans against the wall, biting his lip to disguise the smile that's threatening. "Was it really that bad?"

"Nick!" You hiss, and your eyes do all of the pleading that your voice is too proud for. He doesn't get it; he doesn't understand. You should have known better than to think he was the kind of man who could untangle casual sex from emotion.

He grabs your shoulders, not hard enough to hurt you, but in valiant attempt for reassurance. "Hey. Rollins… calm down, I'm sorry. I—of course. Of course I'm not going to say anything."

_Rollins_. You're back to being plan ol' Rollins to him again, and you can't decide if you're relieved or if there's a fraction of you that's a tiny bit disappointed.

….

"Where've you two been?" Fin asks. You exchange a quick glance with Nick, but lucky for you, your partner isn't waiting for an answer. He nods towards the Captain's office, where the door is now closed. "Liv just got here, she's in with Cap."

Your eyes involuntarily dart to the window, where the half-open blinds mask a majority of the scene inside. You can make out Olivia, sitting with her back facing you, and you're thankful. Thankful that she can't see how you're all trying but failing to keep your stares away and give them privacy. It doesn't feel right, but its like a bad movie you can't seem to pry yourself away from.

"Did you talk to her? How is she?" Nick quickly jumps in, and you can tell he's pissed that he missed her grand entrance, all thanks to you. Fin casts his eyes down, presses his lips together, and shakes his head slowly. With that, you all let out a collective sigh as you all settle into your seats to wait this out.

Everyone tries to act some upside-down version of normal; you sit at your desks, you fix your coffees, you pretend to have enough focus to work, and you wait anxiously for the crowd in the office to dismiss so you can have a moment with Olivia. Brian Cassidy has joined your huddle by this point, banished outside the office in same state of unknown as the rest of you. By the way he rubs the back of his neck, there's no doubt in your mind that he spent the night curled up in an uncomfortable hospital chair. You have to admit that whatever reservations you had about Olivia's boyfriend at first, he's really proven himself to you over the past week.

You're thankful for his presence in her life right now, and in some ways for his presence on this side of the glass with all of y'all. There's so little that you're willing to talk about with Cassidy present, that you _know _you can't talk about in front of a civilian, that it takes the pressure off. You know you can't discuss the victim around her romantic involvement, so there's no waiting, no expectation that someone may bring it up at any time.

The _victim. _You want to vomit at the mere thought of infecting Olivia Benson with that word.

…

An hour goes by. Then two, and then the minute hand ticks past the thirty again. You wonder what's going on in that room, what could be taking nearly three hours to disclose. You happen to be glancing over into the window again when you see movement, people beginning to stand and shake hands.

It's time.

"Hey..." You call to nobody in particular, but it catches the attention of the entire squad. When they all turn to look at you, your cheeks flush red as you find yourself the unwanted center of attention. "I think they're about done?"

Cassidy leads the cascade, but eventually, you all rise to your feet, waiting ever so impatiently for that door to open. Your stomach is in knots, a combination of nervousness to face Liv and that ambiguous eye contact you keep inadvertently making with Nick.

Quietly, a redheaded detective, presumably from Major Crimes, exits the office with a solemn look on her face and closes the door behind her. She gives your group a quick nod, and Cassidy takes that as his cue to start charging towards the office.

"Brian, give them a minute." Munch calls after him. Cassidy whirls around, clenching his fists, then relaxing them slowly to his side as he hangs his head in defeat.

You watch as Nick approaches him, and your heart skips a beat._ Come on, Nick. Don't cause a scene right now; you know better. _Instead, he lays a gentle hand on his shoulder, a measure of comfort that seems to take everyone in the room by surprise. "Hey, man. Hang in there... We're all thinking of you guys. Just take care of her, okay?"

You and Fin and Munch, you all nod your agreement, touched by the heartwarming display of unexpected support. Brian looks up, his face finally displaying the anguish you know he's tried so hard to suppress for Olivia's sake. "Thanks, man." He says quietly.

The mood in the room shifts now, from anxious and awkward to a grave and heavy solidarity. Things will never, _ever_ be the same, and as much as it's already served to bring you together, you can't yet imagine a day where this will no longer be on the forefront of your every thought.

The phone rings, and it's the desk sergeant, alerting you to the press that have apparently caught wind of Olivia's whereabouts and have began to gather at the front of the precinct. Munch now gives the cue for Cassidy to interrupt, and he heads toward the door without any hesitation.

You exchange silent glances with the remainder of your squad as you try to make out the murmurs coming from the office doorway. You wait with baited breath for Olivia to reenter the squad room and y'all to get a chance to say _something _to her, although words seemed so inadequate at a time like this.

_I'm sorry, Liv. I'm so, so sorry. _

Finally, you see her in the doorway, and your jaw involuntarily drops. You expected bad, but you never could have imagine just how broken she looked in this moment. Her arm was in a sling, her face was bruised and battered, and her eyes were void of the life they usually radiated.

She breaks out of the office with purpose, with Cassidy following hot on her heels. She doesn't stop, doesn't even acknowledge the small crowd of friends that has gathered to offer sympathies and well-wishes. Olivia Benson doesn't _want_ your sympathy, and you can get that, but it drives a knife further in your heart that you don't even get a chance to tell her you're here.

You catch a glimpse of her hardened eyes and you see nothing but emptiness.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7, wow! I sound like a broken record, but thanks so much for the responses you've all given me to this story. This chapter is significantly less "Rollaro" and more just Amanda, but don't worry :) **

**As always, I love reviews, here and on Twitter!**

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The two weeks following were a level of misery unrivaled by anything you'd ever experienced. Even in the beginning after your own… _thing_ with your deputy chief, when your world seemed to flip upside down, you'd managed to maintain some sense of normalcy. When everyone around you went about their daily lives without a hitch, it was easy to float through the motions.

There's no normalcy in the One-Six anymore.

Instead, it's your captain spending more time shut in his office than you'd ever remembered. It's Munch being uncharacteristically void of sarcastic quips and questionable advice. It's the anger that you can see simmering under Fin's laid-back demeanor. It's the gaping Olivia-shaped hole in this squad that you're reminded of every time you walk past her empty desk. And, of course, it's you and Nick caught in some sort of silent standoff, speaking only when necessary, neither one of you quite sure how to live in the _after _of that night you spent together.

It's not that you're angry at him; you're not. (Really, you're not.) For you, it was all about self-preservation, not getting too close, not even giving him a chance to bring the topic up with you again. You weren't interested in anything except dropping it, because you knew nothing more could ever happen, and any series of roundabout discussions would be futile at best. You'd slept with Nick _one time, _and okay, the man had _definitely_ known what he was doing in a way that still made you squeeze your thighs together on those rare occasions you allowed yourself to think about it, but that was all it was and would ever be.

Still, the nagging worry you had for his well-being just wouldn't go away. His reaction wasn't the typical outlash of anger you would have expected, it's just… _nothing. _He's quiet. Numb. A little lost, it seems, and you wonder how much you are to blame here.

You know he's talked to her; he'd occasionally offered that information during team huddles in the Captain's office. You've talked to her too, kind of. There were the occasional _hey, we miss you _texts that went without a reply, and then there were the urgent and unavoidable questions about a case the two of you had worked together. Those were the kinds of texts she _would_ answer, and you found yourself sometimes asking more than necessary just for your own reassurance that she was still there. It left you longing for what used to be, that sharp, sassy, passionate coworker of yours, and you wondered how much of that person would ever return.

So maybe it was guilt, maybe a hunch that seeing her might snap Nick back to his normal self, or maybe just wanting some kind of security blanket to hold onto as you did what you wanted and went to see for yourself. But regardless of the logic, that's how you found yourselves standing outside Brian Cassidy's door on an early summer night.

…

"Hey." Brian answers the door quietly, opening it wide enough for the two of you to step inside. Your arms are loaded down with Chinese food, Olivia's favorite, because down south, that's just what you did when someone had a baby, or a death in the family, or was kidnapped and tortured by a psychopath. You were pretty sure that the societal expectation was referring to a home-cooked meal, but with your busy life as a detective working in a unit that was currently understaffed, takeout was as good as it was going to get.

Once inside, you quickly scan the room, trying not to read too much into the fact that Brian had answered the door and not Olivia herself. A pile of blankets and pillows were thrown haphazardly in the corner, and there's no doubt in your mind that someone has been camped out in here for quite some time. It's another knife in the gut for you; Liv hasn't even been sleeping in the same room as her _boyfriend_, and here you were, the champions of the casual hookup. You glance back to Brian, having realized that Olivia is nowhere to be found. Nick seems to have the same concern, and you both shoot him a questioning look.

"She's sleeping. She hasn't really been—" He cuts himself off, realizing that he might have said too much, betrayed her confidence in letting the both of you know that she's experience the same reaction you'd expect from _anyone_ in her position. "I didn't want to wake her up until I had to." He answers, his voice dripping with heartbreaking defeat.

"Hey, it's okay, we can come back another time." Nick offers, and you nod in agreement.

"Nah, man." Brian answers with an unmistakable firmness. "She's expecting you; she's already going to be pissed that I didn't wake her up before you got here, but I just…" He shakes his head.

You study Brian carefully. He looks exhausted, like he hasn't slept in weeks, and you feel for him. He never signed up for this. "It's okay, we… understand." You try to reassure him, but words just seem so futile right now. "How are y'all holding up?"

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sits back against the arm of the couch, hanging his head "One day at a time…." He murmurs, and as he finally looks back up, you can just _feel_ the pain in his eyes. It almost looks like he's about to lose it. You wonder if anyone has asked him how _he_ is doing, but before you get a chance, he makes some comment about going to wake Liv up and hurries away, effectively shutting down the situation.

The walls in Brian's apartment are paper thin. It's not like you were _trying_ to eavesdrop, but you just couldn't help it; it didn't require any extra effort. It starts as murmuring, and you can occasionally make out a word. Her name_, _and _Come on, babe, wake up. _Then the whimpers come, high-pitched and pitiful and entirely heartbreaking. You can hear him quieting her, telling her it's going to be okay, to calm down, _it's just me, just me, you're safe. _

You exchange a silent glance with Nick, and you know he's thinking the same thing you are: you wish you weren't hearing this. Liv would be mortified to know you're unintentionally invading her privacy like this, and you wish with all your heart that you weren't becoming privy to this exchange. It's breaking you all over again.

After what feels like an eternity, she finally trails Brian out of the bedroom. She greets you with a wave of her broken wrist, and there's a smile on her face, but it's the kind that doesn't reach all the way to her eyes. She's sporting a new, shorter hairdo that looks choppy enough for her to have done it herself, and she's dressed in one of Brian's oversized sweatshirts, a strange choice for a summer night, but you'd seen the pictures of Lewis's previous victims; it wasn't hard to guess why.

…

It's a nice visit, all things considered. It's full of loaded but lighthearted discussion about the weather, and the General Tso's Chicken, and Munch's latest shenanigans. You stay as far away from the topic of William Lewis as possible. No one dares to bring anything up about him, or about how she's doing, or when she's coming back to work. It's all about _showing_ her that you can still be here and be normal instead of telling her, because that hadn't worked on the few occasions you'd been brave enough to try.

You keep it short and sweet, because they both look exhausted. There's no guarantee that you leaving will do anything to remedy that, but you figured it was best to afford them the opportunity to try. It was getting late anyways, and with the increased workload that the summer and teenagers with too much free time brought, in addition to be short-staffed at the moment, you were about ready to fall over yourself.

Once in Nick's car, you pull out your phone and mull over the text you want to send, everything you _wanted_ to say tonight but knew you couldn't. Not in front of Brian, or Nick, or even in front of Olivia. The apologies, the _hey, we're thinking of you_, the things that are intrinsically more for your benefit than for hers. You just want to say something. _Anything_. You type and erase and type and erase as Nick silently navigates the city streets.

_[Hey Liv. thanks for letting us come over… it was really good to see you. Missing you a lot at the 1-6, too much testosterone around here :) I'm trying, but nobody can keep the guys in line as well as you do. Have a good night.]_

And you stare at your phone until the _delivered _changes to a read receipt, and no reply ever comes.

…

Nick puts the car in park and eases the key out of the ignition, but instead of making an immediate move to exit the vehicle, he leans back in his seat and lets out a sigh. You follow suit, because you understand his sentiments better than you wish you did. As good of a front as Olivia had attempted to display, it broke your heart to see her such a far cry from her normal self, and you wondered if your little field trip was of benefit to anyone involved.

"You want to come up? Nightcap?" Nick finally turns to you and asks, drawing you back from your thoughts.

You tug your lip in between your teeth in reluctance, because you remember. Ohh do you remember what happened the last time you had a drink, just the two of you, and the holding pattern it's thrown you into ever since.

He seems to sense your hesitation, and he shifts in his seat until he's facing you complete. "Hey… Rollins, look, I… We're friends, right? Or, we used to be. So can we just put all of _this_ behind us and be friends again? Because I… can't lose anyone else right now." He says, and it's as honest as you've ever seen him. He presses his lips together and you can tell he's fighting back the emotion that's threatening.

So you say yes, because you've lost more people in your life than you've ever wanted to.

…

And in the morning, when you wake up tangled together for the second time in just as many weeks, it's not the sheer panic that takes you anymore – it's the fact that you're _here_, with _him, _and it's strangely okay.


	8. Chapter 8

**Here we are... Chapter 8! This is a little more of a mellow, anticipatory chapter, so I hope it won't kill you with feels like I've been told the last one did (sorry not sorry) but there's plenty of awkwardness to go around. And that doesn't mean I don't want to hear from you!**

**Please review, and thanks again!**

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It was a long, hard summer.

One _miserable_ season, and it wasn't just the heat.

For nine weeks, the five of you had busted it, trying your hardest to pick up the slack in Olivia's absence. 1PP was too short staffed to spare a temporary replacement, and to be honest, it wouldn't have felt right to see someone else taking up residence at her desk. You'd keep the exasperation to a minimum whenever you were tapped for yet another _I think this vic would be more comfortable talking to a female_ if it meant you could preserve Olivia's workstation the way she left it until she came back.

_If_ she came back.

You tried not to think about that too much. She was going to come back; she just had to. SVU was her passion, her life, and you prayed she was strong and stubborn enough to not let William Lewis take that from her.

And much to your relief, on an unseasonably chilly Friday afternoon, the Captain gathered you all into the office, away from the hustle and bustle and nosy ears of the precinct, to deliver the good news.

"Detective Benson has been cleared to come back to work." Cragen announces with no attempt to mask the smile that's creeping across his face.

You wait for the other shoe to drop. _She's been cleared to come back to work… but she's chosen not to. She's been cleared to come back to work, but not to SVU. She's been cleared to come back to work but—_

"She's coming back _here? _To SVU?" Leave it to Fin to not mince words and clarify what you're all so desperate to know.

The Captain nods. "She'll start back on Monday. Half-days only, no nights or on-call shifts. Primarily desk duty for now until she gets caught up on paperwork."

The excitement in the room is palpable; you thought this day would _never_ come. It had been two long months of working with solely men… _boys _who acted like the attractiveness of female celebrities and bodily functions were their only options for watercooler conversation. You didn't know how Olivia had survived being the lone ranger female for twelve years, but this summer was almost enough to make you pull your hair out. These people were lucky they hadn't gotten slapped by now, and you couldn't have made any promises if this dry spell of estrogen had lasted one more week.

"Now, it may go without saying, but this is going to be a difficult transition back for Olivia, and for all of us. I know you all care about her, so I am asking you now—treat her like you normally would, but use your own discretion. If any… _concerns _about her well-being come up, don't hesitate to come to me, but let me be the one to handle it."

"What, does 1PP want her out? Do they have a target on her back _now_?" Nick takes a step forward, and you can just see him throwing up his defenses in support of his partner.

Cragen holds up a hand. "I'm not implying anything, Detective Amaro. We just need to exercise some extra caution these next few weeks… try to maintain our normal routines, pay attention if she seems to be getting too overwhelmed. You'll be partnered with her, Nick, I'm relying on you to keep an eye on her."

"Come on, it's Liv, she can handle this. She'll be fine." He insists, and you might almost hear his voice waver as he protects his partner.

"You've got it, Cap'n. We've all got her back" Fin chimes in. Nick scoffs under his breath, and you shoot him a glare. Now is _not _the time to be picking petty fights with Cragen. Olivia was finally coming back, and that was all that mattered.

…

_ "So we should do something for Liv, right? For her first day back?" _

_"Yeah, man. Probably."_

You're halfway listening to the conversation; with the way they were all but yelling back and forth to each other across the room, it was hard to ignore it. Ugh, you were so sick of working with only the guys. You were trying to focus though, so you had no intentions of joining until you were officially summoned, although you knew it was just a matter of time before they'd branch out to the totally ridiculous and you wouldn't have a choice but to speak your mind. You listened to them throwing out all kinds of clichéd ideas, balloons and flowers and even one of those freaking singing telegrams until finally, they pull you in.

"Hey, 'Manda, you're a girl. Help us out here. What would Liv want?" Nick calls to you from where he's leaned back at his desk.

"Oh…" You tease, "Well, I'm glad to know there's another time my vagina comes in handy to you." As soon as the words leave you mouth, you realize your mistake. Hello, _awkward. _You'd only intended to whine about all the extra "female" work they'd dumped on you in Olivia's absence, but you quickly realized how easily that comment could and _would_ be misinterpreted after your summer fling.

You and Nick were good now. After the second night you'd spent together and the third… and the _fourth_… you'd settled into a mutual understanding: it was just sex. Really, _really_ great sex, but it was an outlet for your hurt and your pain and your frustration, nothing more. But as summer had an end in sight and Liv was coming back and things would finally start to evolve into a new normal, you knew that this couldn't continue as a part of that. This Thing between you and Nick that had started in a flurry of panic but quickly become the silver lining to your summer had to stop.

Still, the last thing you needed was to raise suspicions by discussing the function of your, uh, girl parts in public. He caught it too, and you catch his eye as his face turns beet red. It's your saving grace that he's seated behind Fin and Munch and they're oblivious to the connotation behind your misstep, noticing only your own embarrassment.

"Uh… Cupcakes." You manage to squeak out. "Or cake, cookies… something like that. You know us girls, we can always eat." You flourish it off with a nervous chuckle.

Munch chooses now to chime in, looking you dead in the eye before he squelches your suggestion. "I think we should just go with the flowers." He finally announces, and you roll your eyes as the rest of the boys murmur their agreement.

Why does anyone ever ask your damn opinion if they have no intentions of listening to you.

…

"You talked to her lately?" You ask Nick as he slides onto the barstool beside you and you clink the necks of your beer bottles together. You wondered if this after-work tradition would have to end too, because you'd gotten kind of used to grabbing a drink with him in the evenings, even if it didn't lead to anything more.

He responds with a shrug "A little. Not much." He answers, taking a generous sip of his beverage.

You set your bottle down and tap your fingers against the label on the side, trying to figure out how to articulate what's on your mind. You're worried about Nick, about the blinders he's seemingly been wearing about his expectations of Liv upon her return. You were concerned Nick had his hopes set too high, that he believed things were automatically going to revert back to the normal you all missed so much. You'd been put through more than your fair share since you'd joined the force, although nothing like her assault, and you knew firsthand how difficult it was to continue working with sex crimes victims after the tables turned and something… _happened_ to yourself. Liv was a different person, a stronger person than you, but you knew this wasn't going to be smooth sailing.

"You know, ah, Nick… this isn't going to be easy. Liv… it's not going to go back to the way it was. And I don't want you to…" You tread carefully.

"What are you saying?" He downs another sip of beer, and then sets it down forcefully to give you that same defensive glare you saw in Cragen's office this afternoon.

You lean back, your eyes wide. "Nothing, I… I just don't want you to be disappointed, that's all." You gingerly reach out a hand to squeeze his bicep.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. "You and everyone else… Why can't people just accept it? Liv is going to be _fine."_

Maybe that's just what he needed to believe.


	9. Chapter 9

**Here's an extra long chapter, for no reason other than there was no good place to cut it off, and I have a busy rest of the week so it might be awhile before another update, and also I'm sick and I feel like crap.**

**So without any more whining, I hope you enjoy! Things are about to get rocky for Rollaro... and after the next chapter, I promise this will start moving through the episodes a little quicker. **

**As always, I'd LOVE to hear your thoughts, and find me on twitter if you want - cheertennis12**

* * *

You woke up on Monday morning with butterflies in your stomach.

Today was the day you'd been waiting for. Nine long weeks in the making, and it was finally here, and you were insanely nervous to see how this was going to go. Was she _really_ ready, or was it too soon? Would she ever be ready to come back to this department after the horrors that had happened here?

You'd all taken the initiative to arrive early; you couldn't have planned it better if you tried. Fin had the responsibility of picking up the flowers. Really, you didn't trust any of the boys' taste in that area, and you would have just volunteered to do the deed yourself if you weren't so bitter about the whole decision process. You had to admit, he'd done better than you'd expected. A beautiful vase of sunflowers adorns her perfectly tidy desk, and you twiddle your thumbs and wait anxiously until finally, you see her in the doorway

"Hey guys." She greets you with an uncomfortable wave. There's a smile plastered across her face, but you can tell it's mostly for show. She looks around awkwardly, catching a glimpse of the decorations on her desk "What, no cake?"

"We were gonna get you cupcakes." You put your hands on your hips and glance behind you to shoot Munch and Fin the evil eye._ Told you so, assholes. _

"Rollins, I… I was joking…. They're beautiful. Thank you, it's so nice." She says, and

_damn it. Come on, help me out here, Liv. You don't even understand; it's been hell without you._

Cragen gives her a booming welcome, a greeting echoed by all of you as you smile and take turns shaking her hand. And it's true, you're _so _glad she's back, but another quick look is all it takes for you to tell she's trying really hard not to panic under all the attention she's getting. You bite your lip, because you can sympathize, kind of. That first morning at work, after Charlie Patton had broadcast to the entire precinct that he'd done the dirty with you, it was torture. You'd have done _anything_ to get the spotlight off of you even just for a second. You knew what everyone was thinking about you that day, and it made it even worse that their preconceived notions about what had happened were entirely false.

"Hey, uh, guys? I think I found something on the Durham case." You grab the casefile and wave it in the air, effectively turning the attention back to the job. Liv shoots you a grateful smile, and you offer one in return. You had her back.

…

You spend the morning trying not to stare, because you also remember how it felt to be like an animal on display at the zoo, the subject of all of the glances and the finger pointing and the whispers. And even though you knew people weren't intentionally rubbernecking at Liv, you saw how the uniformed officers' eyes lingered on her a little longer then necessary as they strolled by. It's like they kept expecting her to have a meltdown then and there, while she twirled her hair around her finger and sipped her coffee and flipped through her paperwork.

You didn't want to be insensitive, but there was a part of you that wondered that same thing, although you'd never admit to it. But you're not the kind of girl who's going to stare, so you keep your head down and your focus trained on your DD5's, until you begin to pick up on bits of covert chatter coming from the opposite side of the room.

_"Where's your ring?"_

_"It... is what it is." _

Your interest is automatically piqued at the mention of Nick's wedding band and associated marital status, and as slyly as you can, you lift your head up to get a better look.

And sure enough, his left hand is bare.

Wait, wait, wait. _Wait_. How… how long has it been that way? Liv's been gone all summer; he's had a thousand opportunities to slide it off and toss it in a drawer. You're a damn detective, and for having such a reputation for being attentive to detail, you sure missed this one.

Okay, but. _Why _is his wedding band off? And _when?_ Is it because of… _you_? Do you have anything to do with this? He's still a married man, Amanda, have you forgotten? Is he considering _this_ to be the end of his marriage, because he's with _you_ now? Because that's not… that's not how this is. It's not a relationship, it's just… friends with benefits. You're just friends who've slept together… a few times. But can you have a friend with benefits while you're married and it not be considered cheating? But he and Maria, they're separated. But… but _nothing_, Rollins. Vivian Dodds already coined you _that little homewrecking bitch_ and she didn't know the half of it, what her husband had done. You'd been branded nevertheless, and the cycle just continued, didn't it. What about Maria, and, and his _daughter… _

You caught yourself spiraling into a panic. It was a _bad _idea; it had always been. The whole summer, everyone had been in some kind of daze, so caught up in their own processing that nobody had paid notice to how close the two of you had gotten. But now that the squad was complete again, someone was bound to pick up on it, and you couldn't risk throwing any more wrenches into this team's healing.

You had to end this, this… whatever it was with Nick.

…

These days, it was rare for a case to make you sick to your stomach. You'd seen the worst of the worst in Atlanta, then in New York, and it was a little unnerving that nothing surprised you anymore.

Two days later, and you're deep in the throes of one of the most horrific cases you'd ever worked, three girls held hostage in a typical suburban home for nearly a decade. You were having a hard enough time stomaching this; you couldn't imagine how difficult this had to be for Liv as her first case back. You'd been so excited to have her back, but now that she'd actually returned, her judgment was a little… unsettling, But you were close to a break now, so _so_ close. Kayla Greyland had been found, you had this "Ma" in your custody, and all that was left was to nail the son of the bitch responsible and make sure he never saw the light of day again.

You stand with your captain and Olivia outside the two-way mirror, shocked that he'd signed off on parading Ma through the precinct like she was a criminal. Why wasn't she at the hospital, getting checked out like the other girls when she was clearly a victim too?

_"_We need to interrogate her,_"_ the Captain reasoned, and you agreed, but you weren't so sure it had to be done _here_, like _this_.

"She's a victim!" You insist as you looked at the unkempt woman staring despondently at the floor while Nick and Fin circled around her.

"Or a suspect… You heard Kayla. She was in on the kidnap, she had… free reign of the house—" Liv butts in, and you shake your head fiercely to cut her off. She continues to push, and you _want_ to be sympathetic to her, but you're not going to let this battered woman suffer just so you can pat your coworker on the back and treat her with kid gloves. In this instance, she was _wrong_.

You continue the heated back and forth until finally Cragen cuts back in and breaks up your little squabble with a dose of realism. Before you know it, you and Olivia had traded spots with the boys and find yourself face to face with Ma herself. You'd never admit it, but Olivia is the _last _person you want to be in this interrogation with. When you'd suggested to the captain that Nick and Fin might not be the best for the job, you were fishing for a quiet, solo escapade, not one with a loose cannon, and as much as you respected Olivia for coming back and diving in, you had a sinking filling that she was going to cripple any effort to get through to this woman.

"Hi…" You say as gently as you can as you enter the room. "I'm Detective Rollins, and this is Detective Benson." You introduce yourself and set the tone quickly, before Liv has a chance to pipe up and do it for you. _You_ are going to take the lead on this one. "What's your name?"

"Everyone calls me Ma." She says, not lifting her eyes from where they're fixed on her lap, her hands shoved deep in her pockets.

"We know that that was Pa's house rule, but we need to know your real name." Liv chimes in, and okay… not bad. This was a little awkward for you, because in the past, you'd almost _always _let Liv assume the lead; it was just how the hierarchy in this place always seemed to work.

"Or how about… Pa's real name?" You add.

"Pa…. He didn't tell me any other name." She still won't make eye contact, and she's visibly shaking in front of you. Your heart is breaking for this woman who everyone except you seems to see as a criminal.

"Are you sure? Because we know that you lived upstairs with him. You shopped for him. You got to come and go." Liv pushes a little harder, and you bite your lip this time, because you can feel the tension in the room shifting. _It's too early, Liv, back off, _you want to say, but you don't want to embarrass her. Or yourself. ""Hmm? It wasn't like the other girls? Like.. Rhonda? Kayla?—"

"Auntie…! Sissy…!" She insists

"We're gonna keep you safe," You promise, a desperate attempt to regain control of the situation you can start to see snowballing downhill. "He can't hurt you anymore."

"You can't hold me here! I want to go!"

"No, you're not going anywhere." Liv snaps back, and before you know it, the conversation is tumbling out of control. She's yelling, Ma is yelling, and you're looking on in helpless horror.

_"I haven't done anything… You took Kayla… You're as guilty as he is… kidnap, assault, rape… I didn't rape nobody… you just kept him chained up so he could… they love me—"_

_"_It's okay…" You lean in as close to you can, getting into her line of sight and trying to block out Liv's yelling. It's easy to see that she's shutting down by the second. Where the _hell_ was Cragen? Was he watching this? Was he just _okay_ with Liv going off her rocker and attacking a victim like this? It scared you, both for the situation, and for the mental state of your coworker. _This wasn't Liv. _

You're as powerless as ever right now, as the accusations and defenses are continually hurled around you. You can't even listen to this anymore; your only concern is getting everyone involved out of this mess of a situation that your better judgment told you never should have happened from the get. As Ma starts to scream _STOP_, _STOP_ while Liv continues to lay into her, you look toward the window frantically, praying that you can send some sort of telepathic message to Cragen to step the hell in and diffuse this. **NOW**.

…

And when he finally pulls Liv out, far past the point where he initially should have, you can safely say you'd never been so happy to see the man in your life. You try a little bit longer to get through to Ma, but it's clear that the damage is done and she's shut down completely. She isn't going to talk to you; she sees you as a threat, just like Liv made herself out to be, and it pisses you off. _You_ believed the victim, _you_ would have had a chance, but it seems like everyone is so concerned with walking on eggshells and coddling Olivia that nobody cares about what's best for this case.

Nobody except you.

You excuse yourself from the interrogation room a few moments later, and you linger in the hallway for just a moment to get a grip on your emotions before you attempt to rejoin the rest of your squad.

"What happened in there?" is the first question Nick hurls at you, and all you can do is shake your head.


	10. Chapter 10

**Sorry for the delay in updates... work and life have just been a little busy lately! Hopefully the next chapter will come a little sooner. Here's chapter 10 for you, this takes place somewhere around Imprisoned Lives/American Tragedy.**

**Enjoy, and don't forget to leave a review either on here, or let me know what you think on twitter! **

* * *

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

It's a desperate attempt to quell those butterflies that are fluttering furiously inside of you. Should you? Should you not.

_"If any… concerns about her well-being come up, don't hesitate to come to me, but let me be the one to handle it."_

You'd been mulling those words that your Captain had spoken over and over in your head for the past few days. Concerns? You had them, absolutely. After that little outburst in the interrogation room last week, you'd paid close attention to those little nuances in your coworker's behavior. And it worried you, that maybe everyone else saw the world with rose-colored glasses and you were the sole survivor with your rationality intact.

You'd never been one to betray a fellow officer, especially when it came to a situation like this, when you shouldered so much of the blame for creating this new Olivia in the first place. But after enough watching, and waiting, and praying to no avail for improvement, it gnawed at you to the point where you couldn't take it anymore. You cared about Olivia, but even more than that, you cared enough about the success of this squad to voice it: she was not in a state to be an asset to this department.

…

"Amanda?" Cragen looks somewhat surprised to see you leaning against his office door. Truthfully, you've made it a point to avoid situations like this, where you find yourself alone in the office. It's not that you lump Cragen into that same predatory pool as Patton, not at all, but it's rare that you're ever here for anything positive. It's always you owning up to your shortcomings, confessing your deep dark secrets, and bracing yourself for whatever consequence is to come. And truthfully, you don't know if this will end up any differently, but there is one thing that you do know: you can't just sit idly by and watch this unit self-destruct because they're placing all of their hope on a loose cannon who couldn't even manage an interrogation without cracking under the pressure. SVU was a prestigous department, and you weren't going to see it lose that respect.

You swallow hard, but here it goes. "Captain… A word?" He gives you a quick, distracted nod, and you shut the door softly behind you, because you don't want anyone else to know you as the Benedict Arnold you are about to become. "I want to talk about Liv."

The subject matter must have piqued his interest, because he looks at you curiously, now taking the initiative to close the file on his desk and direct you his undivided attention.

"I don't think she's ready to be back at SVU." You blurt out quickly, before you have a chance to reconsider. "That interrogation the other day… I mean, Captain, you saw it. She's too raw. She can't—"

He raises a hand to cut you off, and you immediately panic. What are you doing, Amanda? Olivia has been here forever. He'd pick her over you in a heartbeat.

Cragen lets out a deep sigh and scrubs a hand across his face. "Amanda… All of us have had circumstances that have affected our job performance at some point or another. I… can think of many times my career should have ended, but I was given a chance. Everyone in this department has had second chances… including you." He looks at you pointedly, and you dig your fingers into the palm of your hand in frustration. This wasn't supposed to be about you and all of your failings. You were well aware that you were the department screw-up. This was about your legitimate concern over Olivia's mental state, and why can't he hear you out right now instead of giving you this crock.

"Things are going to be different around here for awhile. It's an adjustment for all of us, but we have to give Olivia a chance to get back in here, get her feet wet. She had… a difficult first case, but as long as she is willing to keep trying... I don't want to end her career unless it's her decision." He finishes softly, and for the first time, you really study your Captain's expression. The dark circles under his eyes are well defined, and the wrinkles that have developed around his frown make him appear as if the summer has aged him a decade.

You tug your lip in between your teeth as you feel the tears well up in your eyes and that damn internal voice begins to whisper its lies once again. _Hey Amanda, you know what he's trying to say? You have no room to talk, because nobody has had more second chances than you. Remember all of those times you've screwed up? Your out-of-control gambling? Yeah, that was your finest moment, wasn't it?… Cragen probably knows why you transferred up to New York; he knows that you were the apple of Charlie Patton's eye and the whore of your old precinct. Oh, and what about now, how you're screwing Nick Amaro every chance the two of you get? He probably knows that too. Damn it, Rollins. It's not just yourself that you've made a godforsaken royal mess out of, now it's Olivia too. Because you know what? This is all your fault._

And it's as if in this moment, he can read your mind. He leans in forward before he speaks again, this time a little more gentle. "Amanda, nobody blames you for what happened. You went with your instinct, and you were right. And because of that, William Lewis is going to spend the rest of his life behind bars… where he belongs."

You try to hold your eyes open, because you know the second you blink, it's going to send a flow of tears cascading down your cheeks. And it's getting harder and harder to breath now, because your chest feels like it's caving in on itself, and your throat is closing every time you try to swallow. Damn it, you didn't come here to make a scene, or to feel sorry for yourself. You came here with confidence, to be the voice of reason that had been long forgotten this summer, but here you were, falling apart in front of the one person whose opinion mattered to you more than anything.

And nobody would listen.

…

You retreat back to your desk as quickly as you can get away, after a few more platitudes from your captain that were intended to comfort but did little more than fuel that self-loathing whisper inside of you.

You keep your eyes cast down on your paperwork, still caught in that emotional tug-of-war between anger and frustration and brokenness. You did exactly what you were told to do; you had a concern and you approached your captain for guidance. And instead of receiving the support you'd hoped, it was a confusing jumble of being reminded of your shortcomings as a detective, and of the fact that regardless of what anyone would ever tell you, deep down everyone would always know that if it hadn't been for your eager tenacity, the name William Lewis would have been long forgotten.

You barely look up when Liv packs her briefcase and announces to whoever is listening that she's heading out for the day. It's 3:30pm on a Thursday, and you know what that means—twice a week she puts on this charade, like she's heading home to play Susie Homemaker for Cassidy, but you know well enough to read between the lines. It's no secret to anyone that Mondays and Thursdays are therapy days, but you guess that for her, or maybe for all of you, it's just easier to skimp on the particulars.

The hours tick by, and the rest of the squad punches out for the day, but you're so engrossed in your work to notice any of it until you feel a strong set of hands wrap around your neck and begin to knead your aching muscles. Maybe it's all the events as of late, or the generalized horrors you've seen as an SVU detective, or maybe just… some hang-ups by personal experience, but you've never been too keen on people sneaking up behind you.

"Nick!" You yelp as you jerk your head around to identify the offender, but your panic quickly resolves into an _ooooh yeah. yeah, okay, that's it, riiiiiight there_ as he continues to work the tension in your shoulders. You close your eyes and soak in the moment as his hands run across your back and up and down your spine, sending delightful shivers all across your body.

His thumb presses into that spot where a bullet ripped through your shoulder last year, and _yeah, okay. Ouch._ It makes you jump a bit. "Relax…" he leans down and chuckles into your ear, continuing to massage your achy muscles.

_(Relax, darlin'… You're wound up tighter than a tick, aren't ya? Now, you told me you wanted this, you're not gonna hold out on me now, sweetheart.)_

You squeeze your eyes shut, because no. Not now, this is not what you're going to think about right now. This is Nick. _You're fine, you're okay,_ but… no. Your mind isn't going to let you have this.

"Hey, no… stop." You shrug your shoulders up to your ears and squirm around a little more deliberately until he gets the picture. A blush rises in your cheeks as you feel him quickly withdraw his hands and lean over your shoulder until he's in your line of sight.

"Am I hurting you?" He asks, his voice laced with concern

You spin around in your chair to face him, granting him a reprieve from this awkward stance he's found himself in. "No... no." You answer hurriedly, mustering the most convincing smile you can manage. "But Nick… really? Here!?" You hiss as subtly as possible.

He flashes you that same impish grin that's held you captive all this time. "Do you see anyone else around?" He moves out of your way and gestures out into the squad room, and sure enough, you've been so caught up in your work that you didn't notice Fin, or Munch, or even Cragen offering their goodbyes and punching out for the day. "And besides… I'm just helping a coworker release some stress, is that a problem?"

You roll your eyes at him, but you still can't suppress that coy grin that's spreading across your face. "Oh right. Like you'd come up behind Munch, or Liv and scare the shit out of them like this." You tease, scrunching your nose and tilting your head in flirtation.

You watch as his face melts from jovial banter to painful realization, and then reality sets in for you as well. You remember the day before, when he'd walked up behind Olivia to let his hand brush against her back as he leaned over her shoulder and dropped a file in front of her. How she'd flinched with the contact, and how Nick had glanced back at you with a look of utter helplessness as Liv muttered an apology and tried to play it off.

So no, he wouldn't come up behind Olivia and do anything to catch her off guard; he'd already felt the sting of that mistake. And you knew why, and open mouth insert foot, you can't stand to see him hurt.

You never intended to string him along like this. You knew that this whatever-it-was between the two of you was finite and running out of time, and in fact, you'd had every intention of breaking him off with him. The plan had been to march into Cragen's office and say your peace, and then use that acquired confidence to have a serious conversation with Nick about the state of your relationship, or lack thereof.

But one of those ambitions had already ended badly, so what the hell, why not keep batting a thousand.

"Hey..." You say gently, grabbing his hand and squeezing it until he finally looks you in the eye. "What do you say we get out of here?"


	11. Chapter 11

**Confession: This might look familiar to some of you, part of this is adapted from a one-shot I previously published, but I promise it's different enough be worth your while to read, and as a treat for the redundancy, I made this chapter extra long! **

* * *

The days of this new normal dragged on and on. You'd come to work each day over the past month resolved to have a good attitude, but by 10am someone was bound to have done something to irritate you, and you'd spend the rest of the day biting your tongue and _trying_ not to roll your eyes at the sheer blindness that surrounded you. And Liv… well, Liv was still a force to be reckoned with, and that wasn't exactly intended in a positive manner. You'd given up trying to make your voice heard in the squadoom when it came to that topic, but you'd make the occasional comment to Nick when the two of your were alone, always to be met with his defenses.

So when the opportunity to do something of value and prove your worth came along, you been quick to stick your neck out and volunteer for the job, although it came with feigned confidence. You had been Atlanta's Queen Bee when it came to honey traps back in the day, so this would be a walk in the park for you. Drunk and disorderly had long been your specialty, whether you were playing the part or actually living it.

…

You'd suited up that evening with Fin, slipping into a dress you'd had in the back of your closet since college that had somehow made the move to New York with you. Come to think of it, you probably hadn't worn it since you were parading your ass down the streets of Georgia Tech on a Saturday night back in the day, and you weren't sure why you'd hung on to the garment for all these years, but at least it came in handy now.

The decoy apartment is prepared, you take your places, and like clockwork, Cassidy and West cruise up in their police sedan only minutes after Cragen put in the 911 call, jumping out of the car to begin managing the scene you'd created under false pretense. They'd pulled you and Fin apart as you clawed at him (you had to admit, you almost enjoyed that part) and nearly shoved you into the back of the police car, and everything began just as you had planned.

"_We're going to do you a favor. We're going to drive you home… when we get there, maybe we can work something out, see if you deserve to get off as drunk and disorderly." _He said, groping your breasts and then running that same hand up and down your leg, finally stopping at your knee to give it a hearty squeeze. You were glad Brian was in the car, because from the way that West had felt you up you already, you wouldn't put it past him to force third base before you'd even exited the vehicle. But Cassidy was here, he was a good guy, he was on your side. You'd be alright.

…

You make it back to the baited apartment, where he wastes no time in dragging you up the stairs and all but throwing you onto the bed. "She's a real slut bag, isn't she?" West laughs. It's been a _long_ time since you've been called a slut, two years and some pocket change, and it takes all you have not to blow your cover and show a reaction to those words that had scarred you so deeply.

"Yeah, she's kind of… sweet looking." You could tell that Brian was trying hard to play the part, however awkwardly he presented it.

You flop around on the bed, moaning a bit while Cassidy and West discussed everything from your head to your curves to your toes. _Look at her… at least we didn't have to shower this one._ You could almost feel the bile rising in your throat as you imagine the things this man has done to women who expected nothing more than a ride home from a good Samaritan.

"Nuh-uh… give me 15 minutes with her," The verbalization of intent jolts from your thoughts as West finally lays down the law, gently planting a hand on Cassidy's chest and pushing him away. You knew this was how it had to happen, but it did little to console you, thinking of how deep into this West would have to get in order to make an arrest. If Cassidy had been made to go first, you were confident he wouldn't have done anything, and the cover would be blown for you both. Still, you were beginning to regret your enthusiasm.

He pulls off your shoe, and a moan escapes your lips as he runs his palm over your ticklish soles. He answers back teasingly as he slides the other sparkling stiletto off of your foot. You squeeze your thighs together, acutely aware of the vulnerable position you're lying in, and that he's taking the opportunity to look right up your dress. Your cheeks flush with embarrassment as you think of your squad watching this exchange through the hidden cameras scattered throughout the room, and it's your saving grace to at least know that Nick is outside in the car with no visual of the situation. You glance over to the doorway to catch Brian backing away slowly, not taking his eyes off of you for a second.

And then, the phone rings and the situation turns on a dime.

West exits the room while he fields the call, leaving Cassidy with simple instructions: "_Take your time. Warm her up for me._" You hated the thought of this happening to another girl, someone who wasn't undercover and playing the part. A girl who was truly intoxicated and helpless, victimized by one who was supposed to serve and protect. But not you, you were okay, you could handle this. It's the first time you'd played bait since things went south in Atlanta, and it didn't matter that you were a little shaky, you were nevertheless confident in your abilities to compartmentalize the past.

Brian crawls onto the bed, one knee after another. He looks at you deliberately, as if his eyes are trying to give you all of the reassurance that his words can't right now. "I was trained for this." He says a little more loudly than necessary, and you know it's for West's benefit as he lurks in the hall. With one more subtle nod to ensure you're on the same page, _I'm not going to hurt you, _he climbs on top of you. He straddles you carefully, gripping your wrists and pinning your arms above your head, and that's it.

You're gone.

"Hey… no, no, no, no. No." You begin to squirm, your voice escalating with every syllable. Your reaction is all for show, but it's not. Your mind rages with recollections of the last time you were in this situation, in a run-down Motel 6 in suburban Atlanta, a deal gone bad with your commanding officer.

Brian leans further over you, dropping his head to press it into your neck.

You draw in a sharp breath and begin to fight, wrestling the need to continue this undercover mission versus the panic it's thrown you into. _You're okay Amanda, it's Cassidy, it's just Cassidy, he's a good guy, thisisn'treal, he'snotgoingtohurtyou…_

"Relax, Rollins." He whispers into your ear as you continue to fight, your eyes clenched shut and the tears seeping out from underneath, streaming down your cheeks to mix with your makeup and soak the pillowcase with a greyish blend of salt and mascara. He thinks it's all a show, and there's no way you can tell him to stop without blowing the operation completely. He avoids any contact of his lips against your skin, but as he adjusts his position, you can feel his erection pressing into your inner thigh. You _know_ it's a normal physiological reaction; Loganville Elementary playground sex-ed had taught you that long before SVU had. After all, he's a man, who probably hasn't seen any action in a long while, on top of a scantily clad female, acting the part. But he's Olivia's _boyfriend, _he's pretending to assault you, but your brain is having a hard time distinguishing the difference between what's real and what's all part of the plan. That you agreed to. (Just like before, right?) And now he's getting turned on by it, by _you_, and you can't handle the memories this is digging up, not when you haven't quite processed them yourself.

You're too frozen to even call this whole thing off, cry uncle and tell Brian that your screams aren't just Oscar-worthy acting and to stop, _please_. It will ruin everything, make you the scapegoat of IAB, but if it would be enough to get you out of the here and now and pull your mind out of the past, it would be worth it, because _you can't handle this anymore. _

_Stop. _You open your mouth, but the words won't come out.

…

And then, right as you're about to cross that threshold of no return, West becomes your saving grace, informing Brian that there's been another call and the pair needs to go now. _But don't worry, we'll come back. _

He gives your hand a quick squeeze before he climbs off of you, trying to catch your eye in the process. But you turn your head away, unable to bring yourself to look at him, because then he'll Know. The detective is engrained in him like a bad habit, and you know your vulnerability is painted all over your face in a way it's never been before.

As soon as the door has closed, you scramble to a sitting position and fight frantically to catch your breath. You rip your wig off, trying to steady your breathing and will your mind back to the present. Fin and Cragen burst in the room a few moments later to find you sitting on the edge of the bed, rocking back and forth and scrubbing your hand over you face. You pray you don't look as shaken as you feel right now, but the emotion is hard to conceal.

"Amanda, you alright?" Fin asks, his immediate concern for you taking precedence over any details of the case. He hands you your jacket and you shrug it on quickly, covering up your abundance of exposed skin from the public eye and the crisp fall air outside.

Once you've given a moderately reassuring performance that you're ready to jump back in, that this is just a routine undercover operation with no personal implications, they turn their attention back to figuring out what went wrong and where the hell Brian Cassidy just went.

"Manda, you comin'?" Your partner turns around and calls to you from the doorway.

"Yeah, just… give me a second." You say with the most convincing smile you can muster.

….

A few hours later, you sit at your desk, torn between barely being able to keep your eyes open and still fighting to come down from the night's adrenaline rush. The interrogations are underway, the processing nearly complete, and you figured you'd get a jump on the paperwork so you could justify hitting the sack once you finally got home.

"Hey… Rollins." You look up to find Brian Cassidy walking towards your desk and quickly dart your eyes away. You'd spent the rest of the night avoiding him at all costs after the compromising situation you'd both found yourselves in earlier. You throw on a contrived grin and look back up as he approaches. _What does he want? Shouldn't he be heading home to his girlfriend? _

"Heard you had a close call tonight." You spit out, your cheeks flushing with the same embarrassment that's plagued you every time you've skirted eye contact with him since your undercover charade. Who knows, you're probably the first woman he's been this close to in months, because you'd hesitate to believe that Liv's in a position to give him anything.

"Yeah. uh, look, about earlier tonight, I just wanted to make sure—"

You cut him off there, because you don't really want to know what's coming at the end of that sentence, or exactly what he wanted to _make_ _sure_ of.

To make sure you weren't entirely mortified about having your coworker's hard-on pressed against your crotch? To make sure you weren't going to _tell_ Olivia about said incident? To make sure it was just Oscar-worthy acting when you panicked at your wrists being pinned above your head as he shifted his weight on top of you, and not anything more that you might want to _talk about_?

"Yeah…" You answer quickly, maintaining that same fake grin and throwing in a nonchalant shrug for good measure. "Everything's fine."

Either your charade fools him, or he's just as eager to bail out of this compulsory conversation as you are, because he nods a quick goodbye and shuffles back over to the two way mirror where Olivia stands. You watch as he gently slides an arm around her, and can't help but smile when you see her lean into his embrace.

…

"You about done?" You hear a voice behind you, and at least you can be thankful that this time, Nick has learned his lesson and announced his presence instead of skulking up unannounced.

You press your lips together and offer nothing more than a quick nod, barely taking the time to look up from your paperwork. You're still teetering on the edge of losing it, and if anyone around here knows you well enough to recognize that, it's Nick. And you are _not_ going to talk about what happened tonight.

"Hey…" He presses, obviously sensing that something's up with you. "C'mon 'Manda, Finish that tomorrow; It's been a hell of a night… Let's go get a drink."

_Let's go get a drink. _It's turned into an assumption instead of a question now, much to your dismay. And it's usually code for the expectation of something else, a piece of yourself that you're unable to give him tonight. You can't bear the thought of someone touching you again tonight. You can't let him that close to you, because you've exposed yourself to him enough as it is, and it was too much.

"You know… Nick… It's been a long night, and I really just want to go home." You say faintly, with an abrupt stand to your feet. He stares at you in confusion as you messily shoving your files into your bag and brush past him as you head toward the exit, never looking back.

…

But you never went home.

Instead, you'd ducked into an alleyway safely out of sight and pulled out your phone, searching frantically for a phone number buried in your contacts. Your hands were shaking, and your eyes spilling over with tears that splattered one by one onto your screen, distorting your view. You just needed a fix, you needed a high, you needed…

_(A meeting)_

You lean back against the brick wall and slide down until your backside touches the damp asphalt, and you let go of it all. Your sobs echo into the silence, and that's it, you're so done with this, with everything, with… _with_…

No. _No_. _**NO**__, _Amanda, you keep fighting.

You shift your phone back and forth from hand to hand, until finally, you find the strength to close out of the contact. In fact, you delete your bookie's number altogether, and with that comes an overpowering sense of pride.

…

There's a strange genre of people who choose to attend Gamblers Anonymous meetings at 5:30am in the Jersey suburbs. You can peg a few of them for businessmen, in for a quick tune-up before they hit their jobs at the stock exchange in a few hours. Then there's the generalized misfits, and the glassy-eyed stragglers who look as if they've just found refuge from a night on the town. It'd be a lie if you didn't admit that you felt insanely out of place apart from your normal 8pm on East 35th Street crew.

You awkwardly make your way to the coffeepot in the back as the rest of the group mingles together. It's almost 5:30 in the morning, after all, and you've been awake for nearing twenty-four hours. You're about to crash then and there, and you'd give anything to be curled up at home in your bed, but something about this tugs at your heart, that this is something you _need _to do for yourself and it can't wait.

"Are you new to the program?" An arm reaches over and grabs a mug from in front of you, and you take an abrupt step back, realizing that you're all but blocking the caffeine source from others just as desperate as you.

"Me?" You point back at yourself like a idiot, before you realize _duh, Amanda, who else could he be talking to?_ "Uh… no. Just… new here." You confess, a blush spreading across your cheeks.

"Ah.. well. Nice to meet you." He sets his coffee mug back down on the table and sticks his newly free hand out for a proper introduction. "I'm Nate."


	12. Chapter 12

**I wrote this whole long author's note and dang it, my stupid browser deleted the whole thing. I hate technology. **

**Anyways. Thanks to all of you, once again, for all of the feedback, you're all wonderful. Special thanks to the fabulous paperframes/Mari for some inspiration on the whole Benson/Stabler lineup, and thanks to my late night twitter crew for keeping me entertained during the time it took to write this. **

**Reviews make me smile!**

* * *

SVU without John Munch was going to be a hard pill to swallow. He'd been there since day one for you, and you'd be inclined to believe that he'd been at SVU since its inception in the dinosaur era had you not heard him rattle off an endless montage of stories about the 'B-more days'.

You rolled into his party fashionably late, surprised to find that you'd still arrived before the infamous Mr. and Mrs. Cassidy and even the life of the party himself. You immediately scan the room and spot a multitude of familiar faces: judges, DA's, a few lanky men with elephant ears that could be none other than relatives of your sergeant, and even a few high-ups from neighboring precincts, but nobody you'd exactly waltz over to and strike up a conversation with. Finally, you catch sight of Nick with Fin and your captain on the opposite side of the room and you make your way over to a set of friendly faces with a grand sigh of relief.

Nick's face lights up when he sees you, and you have to admit, it sends a tingle up your spine to be met with such a greeting even after you've spent the last two weeks sending off mixed signals like it's your job. Your head _knows _that he's still the same old Nick, but your heart is still reeling from your undercover operation two weeks before and you'd kept him at what had to be a confusing arms length ever since.

Forty-five minutes later and the party is in full swing. You stay close to Nick as the two of you mingle your way through the crowd. It's not that your intention is to be clingy, but you're never one for small talk, and a buffer is a small comfort to be had, especially one as charming and personable as him.

Munch nearly scares the shit out of you when pops up behind you. "Here we have it, ladies and gentlemen… the new and improved Benson and Stabler," he chuckles as he slings an arm across each of your shoulders and settles in between the two of you.

Cragen and Fin laugh along, but you, you're more concerned with trying to wipe the look of shock off of your face.

_Stabler. _You'd heard the name of your infamous predecessor countless times, especially in your first few months on the job when everyone would throw it around as an excuse for Olivia's unremitting bitchiness towards you and Nick. You were well aware of the rumors too, that he and Olivia were more than just partners. That they were sleeping together, screwing each other mercilessly in the empty interrogation rooms, _involved_ somehow, and shit. Shit. Oh shit. Is that what people thought of you and Nick? That the two of you were an _item_? Was it _that_ obvious?

…

3:32pm [Is everything okay with Liv?]

3:32pm_ [She's fine... heard from a vic, we caught a case.]_

3:34pm [really? anything good?]

3:35pm_ [Sarah Walsh? piano player from a couple years ago? She thinks she was raped again. At her apartment right now]_

3:37pm [wow. Same guy?]

3:37pm_ [Liv thinks so, but idk… how's the party?]_

3:38pm [Ha. well, Munch still has the mic, so use your imagination]  
3:46pm [we miss you though]

3:46pm_ [I miss you too]_

…

The case sucked, plain and simple.

In reality, every case at SVU could fall under that classification, but this one tugged at your heartstrings a little harder than most. Sarah Walsh was one of the first vics that you'd worked with after you moved to the city, and you remember the devastation that rippled through your squad when Bayard Ellis put her personal life under the microscope and was able to introduce enough doubt into the minds of the jury to get Michael Wedmore off scot free.

And just like everything else these days, this investigation came with those subtle reminders of just how broken your squad was. How broken _Olivia_ was. The old Olivia would have encouraged any victim to face his or her attacker head on, would _know_ that just because she couldn't recall memories of her attack didn't mean that they weren't repressed somewhere deep inside and wouldn't be holding her captive until they were finally brought to light.

The old Olivia wouldn't have given that a second thought; instead she would have thrown her focus onto making it the most gentle revelation possible. This new and far-from-improved Detective Benson, on the other hand, even had the audacity to suggest that they withhold that knowledge from Nicole and instead let her continue in the day to day working with a predator? No. _NO, _and even the mere suggestion was enough to render your squad speechless.

But finally, Fin had broken the silence, and then Cragen, and even Nick had taken off the blinders for long enough to see the fallacy in her request, but it was a startling reality shock for all.

Eventually, you'd played your cards right and Cameron walked into a trap, a pregnancy scare brilliantly engineered by none other than Nicole herself as she grappled to come to terms with her assault. And as you wrap up the loose ends of paperwork, and get Cameron ready for transport to his new home in the state judicial system, you get a text from your typically reliable neighbor, something about a grandkid and an emergency all boiling down to how she expected to be home by now to let Frannie out, but was still stuck at the hospital. You grab your keys and rattle off a story about an emergency of your own now, promising Nick that you'll be back as soon as you can as you race home to your baby, who's probably sitting by the front door with her legs crossed by now.

6:12pm [hey thanks for covering for me… be back in an hour]

6:16pm _[no problem. we're done actually, Cap said we could go]_

6:17pm [damn… I left my files on my desk]

6:18pm _[do you need them tonight? i can drop them by]_

You inhale a sharp breath, allowing your fingers to hover over the touchscreen while you considered the insinuations weaved into his words. You knew what he was asking—or at least, you had a feeling you did.

Is this what you want, Amanda? Is this _really_ what you want?

…

What you _want_ is to pretend like this dalliance between you and Nick couldn't have serious implications for both of your careers. You'd been skating on thin ice ever since your addictions were aired out like dirty laundry, and you know that if it truly boiled down to it, you would be the one to get the axe. And besides, it was never really _anything _other than some companionship during a shitty time in your lives and a way to cope with the unimaginable_. _It didn't matter how much you wanted this, or just how special Nick made you feel when you were with him. You had to wise up and face the music; SVU was the best thing to ever happen to you and you couldn't risk it over a relationship with a coworker that was bound for destruction from the start.

Two hours later and the two of you are curled up on the couch together with the low drone of Sportscenter in the background.. One of his hands tangles in your ponytail and the other five fingers dance across your upper arm where sleeve meets skin so lightly it almost tickles. You could get used to this, and it scares you because you know that it's all about to come crashing down .You rest your head on his chest, soaking in the final few moments of warmth and comfort before the refuge you've found in him is shattered forever.

"We can't keep doing this…" You murmur into his shirt, and you immediately feel his languid movements still. He tenses up underneath you in a way that breaks your heart, because you suspect you're about to break it all over again. You expect him to fight you, to shut down the conversation or push back that _you worry too much_, but instead he waits in silence, allowing you the opportunity to continue and say your piece, "This… us. Nick, we _work_ together. If this came out, we could both lose our jobs… if nothing else, one of us would have to transfer, and I don't think either of us wants that."

"Yeah…" In one syllable, he agrees with you, much to your surprise, and _damn it Nick, you're not making this any easier_. You look up at him, searching for any kind of reaction, _anything_. You can't gauge anything by those big brown eyes that gaze blankly back at you, and you wonder if he's been on the same wavelength all along. You swallow hard before you lay down the ultimatum you've been skirting around this whole night. The words that will officially crush whatever good thing you might have had here.

"So I guess that means this is it…" You whisper, your eyes welling up with tears and _nonono, you can't do this now._ "But Nick… this doesn't mean I don't care about you. You… and Fin… you're all I have here and I can't lose that." You say as sincerely as you can, lifting a hand to caress the unshaven stubble on his cheek. You need him to know that regardless of how confused about this whole thing you are, it's not that you were unwilling to give it a chance, but right now, SVU was the only stability you had in your life. And you wondered if maybe, _maybe _he could be that for you, one day, but you were in too fragile a state right now to be willing to take the risk it would involve to find out.

You wait for him to get angry, to treat this as a tried and true breakup and slam the door as he walks out of your apartment and out of your life. Instead, he tightens his grip on you and whispers something into your hair that you can't quite make out as you wrap your arms around him one last time.

…

Although the occupancy is cut in half after Nick's departure, your apartment feels more suffocating than ever in his absence. Every empty takeout container, every dirty glass in your sink, every scattered file on your coffee table reminds you of him, and of the two of you, and of what will never be because of office politics and maybe a healthy dose of fear.

You can't stay here tonight.

You throw on a jacket, an unfortunate necessity for this time of year in New York (your Georgia blood is already dreading the impending onslaught of winter.) You walk, and you walk, until you end up in unfamiliar territory and the cold is so biting that you can't stand to be out in the elements anymore, so you duck into the closest shelter—a quiet bar that's a little off the beaten path. You shrug your coat off as you enter, and slide onto a barstool a safe distance away from the rest of what crowd there is.

"Gin and tonic." The bartender approaches and you mumble your order without even looking up. You came here to drink, not to socialize.

"Amanda, right?" The mention of your name nearly knocks off of your stool, and you look up in shock to find a familiar face staring back at you. You've seen this guy before, and you swear it's on the tip of your tongue, but you just can't quite remember where you've been introduced before.

"Yeah…. yeah. And you're… tell me again?" You wince and pinch the bridge of your nose, a little embarrassed that you even have to ask his name when he seemed to recall yours so easily.

"Nate." He reminds you with a grin, plopping your drink down in front of you, and _oh, right, _it clicks... the guy from the coffeepot at that the spur-of-the-moment, desperate GA meeting you went to in Jersey, and wait... didn't the whole _Anonymous _in the title imply that you weren't supposed to acknowledge the program or its participants outside of meeting time?

It's not like it mattered to you anyways; it was hardly a state secret that you were working your way through the twelve steps. You apologize again for your forgetfulness, give him the platitudes of how it's nice to see him again, then again divert your attention back to reading the scribble etched into the wooden counter. You prop your head up your elbow, and use your free hand to pick up the glass and swirl the pungent liquid around and around, watching as it splashes up over the sides and onto the counter, all the while wallowing in the self-pity you rarely allowed yourself to feel.

Tonight you _didn't_ want to feel. So you finish your drink. And another, and _another_, until common sense gets the best of you. You _do_ have to be at work bright and early tomorrow, and preferably without a hangover. You fumble through your wallet and pull out a wad of cash, waving Nate down so you can take care of the tab you've racked up in your misery.

"Oh, it's on me tonight." He waves you off with a nonchalant smile.

"No, I can't let you do that…" You think back to your days as a uni in Atlanta, where you'd caught case after case of disgruntled employers accusing their staff of theft in the form of undercharging friends. You set the bill on the counter and push it towards him, and he firmly blocks your effort.

"Amanda, it's no big deal. I own the place."

"Oh?" That was the _last _thing you expected to hear him say. "Well… thanks."

"There is one condition though…" You tilt your head and shoot him a puzzled look until he finally explains himself. "Promise me I'll see you around here again sometime?"

"Yeah." You spend your first genuine smile in quite awhile on the man in front of you, your cheeks flushing red at the obvious flirtation. "It's a deal."


	13. Chapter 13

**Lucky number thirteen... This takes place around the time of Dissonant Voices, complete with another appearance from douchey hate himself. **  
**Hope you enjoy, and if you have any thoughts of comments, I would love to hear them!**

* * *

"Another sick mom…" You groan to your partner. Was it even _possible_ to break into the industry as an undiscovered talent without a sob story nowadays?

"Didn't see that coming." Fin quips back, and you share a laugh as you shovel another spoonful of fried rice into your mouth.

American Diva wasn't usually your cup of tea, but you had to admit, it was the perfect pick for precinct entertainment: enough to fill the deadened silence of nighttime in the squadroom, but certainly not something that was going to draw you in to the extent of neglecting your work. Your partner, on the other hand, was the farthest thing from an American Diva fan you would ever find, but it had only taken a few bats of your eyelashes and a promise that the remote was his the next time you two were strapped to your desks finishing DD5's well into the night to get him to begrudgingly give in.

You should have taken it as an omen, because less than twenty four hours later, you're staring through the two-way mirror, watching Olivia play the classic game of _'color where the bad man touched you'_ with a four year old named Jonah, whose nearly-hysterical mother had brought him in screaming allegations against his music teacher, the same man who had been lauded on your television screen the night before. In some ways, you were thankful that it was Olivia who was tasked with the interview. She still had her knack for children, and if she was going to be working at all, you trusted her more playing arts and crafts with little kids than you did with adult vics nowadays.

The rest of the afternoon is spent in a whirlwind, from the precinct, to the hospital, and back to the Child Advocacy Center. You dissect Jonah's statement, the parents marriage, and even the sister's admission that her brother had disclosed some disconcerting information to her a week before. Each time Jonah recounts the story, he offers consistent, specific details, but something about it doesn't sit well with you. It sounds so… rigid, _rehearsed _even. And when the opportunity finally comes up, you throw in your two cents about Brooke's recollection of Jonah's disclosure and subsequent concern that_ he does make things up. _Jackie's record and reputation were spotless, none to your surprise, and that did nothing more than fuel that sinking feeling in your stomach.

"The doctor said there's no signs of STD's, and sexual abuse was inconclusive…" You remind your squad. You chew the inside of your lip as Liv counters back with her own jaded opinions, ready to fire up the torch and go after Jackie herself. When did she turn into _this_, this cynical, jaded detective, a far cry from the woman you'd long admired from your cubicle in Atlanta.

She was different now. _Everything_ was different now.

"Alright, that's enough for probable cause." Pippa's announcement snaps you back to attention, and when she gives the ominous direction to get CSU into the classroom, you knew _exactly_ what that meant.

"CSU? Do we have to make a show out of this?" You can see it now, the swarm of law enforcement invading the campus in the middle of the afternoon and tipping off a witch hunt all on the word of one imaginative four-year-old.

"Amanda, you worryin' about that school?" Fin raises an eyebrow in your direction, as if trying to imply that maintaining an appearance is the _last_ thing that should be on your mind at time like this.

"No! Jackie Walker! He's an openly gay male teacher; he's a celebrity. He gets accused of pedophilia… I mean, the charges may go away, but the stain won't."

"I'm touched by your concern… I'll keep it in mind." Pippa answers back in that same flippant tone you've been conditioned to expect from her, and you bite your lip so hard you nearly draw blood to keep from saying something you know you'll later regret.

…

You stare at the television in disbelief as the headline flashes across the screen:_ Diva Coach Molests Boys_. It seems so… definite, so conclusive amidst a fog of question, and it makes you sick to your stomach how quickly this has snowballed out of control despite your best efforts to rein it in.

_"All of us at American Diva are deeply troubled by these allegations, and are taking them very seriously. While the investigation is ongoing, Jackie Walker has agreed to take a leave of absence so he can focus on his defense. Thank you. No questions at this time. "_

You roll your eyes in disgust. "Isn't that the guy who got his wife's sister pregnant?" You spout off to anyone who will listen.

"Well, _he_ didn't molest kids." Nick is quick to jump in with that biting criticism that's become so typical of him lately.

Fin quickly jumps to your defense. "Are we _sure_ Jackie did?"

"Why?" He looks at Fin and throws his hands onto his hips. "Because he's charming? We've seen this before, alright, we have the DNA, Liv and I were in the box with him."

You take a deep breath and run your fingers through your bangs, mulling over the situation at hand while Nick and Fin continue the back and forth. The _last_ thing you wanted to do was to get into it with Nick right now, because the two of you were _finally_ starting to settle into a comfortable rhythm, one that didn't involve falling into bed together whenever words failed you or the awkwardness that had settled after it had become clear that any dalliances had to stop. One that was just the two of you, swapping stories about your daughter and your dog while on a stakeout, splitting a donut in the mornings when neither of you could stomach all of the grease and the sugar that the whole thing would contain, and being generally able to put the past behind you and appreciate the friendship that had blossomed out of a rocky start but wasn't without a residual heaviness.

"All I'm sayin'…." You hesitate for a moment, before pushing your nerves aside and saying what you had no choice but to say. "We all know that… Liv is working through some things, and her judgment… I mean, I-I... I just think she's pushing this one too hard."

"I'm going to side with my partner here."

"Of course you are." _Because he always did. _

…

You knew it.

You _knew_ it, and it didn't matter how much you pushed, and pushed, and _pushed_, it didn't matter.

_"Upon further investigation, we have found the charges against Mr. Walker to be baseless. We are asking for all charges to be dismissed, and for him to be released immediately. We would also like to extend our sincere apologies to Mr. Walker and his family" _

You stand in the back of the courtroom, biting your tongue and letting the anger near overwhelm you as the rest of the crowd files out, murmuring amongst themselves. You finally see Jackie make a quiet exit, and you're not waiting for Liv and Nick, you need to make this right, damn it if they're coming with you or not.

"I know you don't want any more apologies, but _I'm_ sorry." You say firmly after a quick sprint to catch up with him. You shouldn't _have _to be apologizing now, because you were advocating for him all along, but you owed him this and so much more now that your squad had failed him.

"You're _sorry_? Is that supposed to make it right?" He whirls around and snaps in your face as the rest of your squad quickly catches up to where the two of you stand.

"Mr. Walker, if you want us to talk with the school…." You try again, grasping onto anything you can think of that might soften the blow to his reputation that your squad has triggered.

"Haven't you done enough? You all dragged me into this." You bite your lip, because he's speaking nothing but cold, hard, embarrassing truth. "I told you, I had nothing to do with it. That I was innocent. _And you didn't believe me. _You wouldn't even listen to my side!"

His words are angry. Vile. Vicious, and you can't for a second blame him. The final blow comes when Barba delivers the news that Brooke and Rachel won't be charged, that they've whittled their sentence down to a plea deal of probation and community service. You're just as shocked as Jackie, and as Barba explains the hurdles it would have taken to see this case through trial, it does little to dull the sting of what you and your squad have done to this man. And when Jackie tells you to go away, shooting down all of your offers to fight to clear his name, you have no choice but to oblige, because you can completely understand why he has no faith in your ability not to screw him over yet again.

"I keep going over it in my head…" Liv squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head dismally as Jackie walks away. "Those kids... they did _not_ sound coached. "

You ball your fists up and seethe on the inside, at Olivia, at Nick, at Barba, at _yourself _for not pushing even harder than you already did. The anger that's boiling inside of you rises as Barba and Nick join in with the platitudes, reassuring each other that _this comes with the territory,_ and _people make mistakes_ and _we were just doing our job, _and that ruining a man's life because you'd conveniently forgotten the _innocent until proven guilty _mantra when it mattered most was nothing more than an occupational hazard_. _But no, you're going to tell yourself any of that, because plain and simple, this was _not_ okay, and you didn't deserve to feel better about this. You had destroyed an innocent man's reputation, his livelihood, his career, and as far as he was concerned, you'd left his entire _life_ in shambles. Your squad had once again been more concerned with coddling Olivia and her opinions than they were about sound police work, and you couldn't do anything to stop it.

"No… you know what? You guys can keep telling yourselves whatever you want. This didn't have to happen." You mean every word of it too, and before you can even give them a chance to react, you take off, brushing past Nick as you make a beeline for the exit.

Part of you wants him to follow you, to ask if you're okay, because a month ago, he would have cared. You have a messy case, and when it all goes to hell, you wind up together in a bar or in one of your beds, and somehow, if even for just a few minutes, it makes you whole again. And even though it's all upside down and different now, you were still friends. And maybe tonight, he's just what you need to take away the sting. You'd throw caution to the wind, let it happen again and fall back into that tangled web of ambiguity just like before.

You lay a hand on the doorknob and steal a glance behind you as you lean into the door to push it open. There's Nick, with a hand resting on Liv's shoulder, looking deep into her eyes and spouting off some kind of false reassurance that she wasn't in the wrong.

He chose _her_.

…

"Amanda!" Nate's voice rings out above the crowd when he catches sight of you walking through the doors of The Brass Monkey. (You haven't quite figured out how he came up with _that_ name, and you file a mental note to ask him later). This place has become a refuge of sorts for you lately, ever since your habit of grabbing a drink with Nick after work was put to an abrupt halt after your mutual agreement to 'cool it.' You'd swing by after a particularly rough day at work, grab a drink, and engage in some lighthearted small talk to unwind whenever Nate had a lull in customers.

You offer a tight smile and a quick wave as you slide onto the barstool at the very end. You weren't much in the mood for conversation, and you almost considered taking your business elsewhere tonight, but came to your senses quickly upon remembering that Nate never allowed you to pay. _If being here means you're not gambling… _he would always insist, and although you found that a strange sentiment from a man working his way though the twelve steps of AA, another little detail he'd dropped one night, you'd never complain about a bottomless supply of free alcohol.

"Hey… you alright?" Nate drops his voice and leans over the counter as he slides you your usual concoction.

You bite your lip. The look on your face must have given away more than you'd hoped. "Sure. Fine. Just a long day."

He looks at you knowingly, tapping his fingers against the wooden countertop. "Boyfriend?"

"No." You respond with something between a scoff and a chuckle. Sure, you'd vented to Nate about Nick in the past, but he was _not _your boyfriend, he was _never _your boyfriend, and this wasn't even about him right now. Just the insinuation was enough to grate your nerves, but that was just Nate, always concerned about you and anything that seemed a threat to your recovery, and you had to appreciate the sentiment nevertheless.

"Work?" He tries again, hitting the other topic you frequently found yourself griping to him about.

You tilt your head back and squeeze your eyes shut. "Yeah…" you confess, wiping a hand across your face.

"Want to talk about it?" You shake your head with fierce insistence, bringing your glass to your lips and downing the remainder of its contents. The pungent liquid burns as it slides down your throat, and you push the glass back toward him, indicating your request for a refill. He grabs the glass and shuffles it from hand, making no move to pour you another round. "Do you need a meeting?"

"What I _really _need is another drink." You let out a bitter laugh.

"Okay. Come on. There's a meeting a couple blocks away that starts in ten." He grabs a towel and wipes off the ring of condensation left by your beverage, then throws it into the sink behind him.

"No… Nate, come on, you're busy, I'm… it's not a big deal, okay? I'm _fine_, I just need—"

"—A meeting." He cuts you off with a grin, and you hang your head in exasperation, but you can't help but give in to the sheepish smile that's spreading across your face as well. It felt _good_ to be the subject of someone's concern. "It's a Tuesday night, Amanda. The kitchen crew can handle it for awhile. This is important."

You tug your lip in between your teeth and take your sweet time in contemplation. Friendship was something you had so desperately missed since you'd moved to the city, the chance to spend time with someone who didn't have a badge resting on his or her hip and couldn't care less about the grimy details of police work. Moving to New York was a necessary change, but you missed that community of girlfriends and the opportunity it afforded to cut loose and unwind apart from the job. It was nice to finally have someone like that in your life again, even if it was just in the form of an occasional chat with your bartender.

Nate was the closest thing to an outside friend you'd yet to find in the city. Someone who was cheering for your success in the program, someone who understood your itch to self-soothe through gambling and wouldn't judge you for it, and someone who could recognize when you were struggling far better than even those who would pride themselves on detectives' intuition.

You needed that right now.

You look up at Nate with a resolved smile, and finally nod your approval before sliding off the barstool and trailing him out the door.


	14. Chapter 14

**We're coming up on the exciting part... this is the first of two chapters centered around Military Justice, before we finally hit Rapist Anonymous (and trust me, I can't wait to write those chapters).**

**Forgive me for any typos (and feel free to point them out) but I'm half asleep but am determined to get this posted tonight. **

**Hope you enjoy, and as always, I'd love to hear your comments!**

* * *

You just feel numb.

This year, this whole _year_ has been a whirlwind, a tornado pummeling through your life and leaving it in yet another state of shambles where rebuilding seems daunting, if not impossible.

The low hum of the TV fills your apartment, but you're not really listening as the news anchor discusses some developing crisis in China and the damn Red Sox World Series win yet again. Instead, you're caught inside your head, listening to the voice, that damn voice that cripples any attempt you make to process everything that's unfolded in the past twelve months, since Hurricane Kim left your life in wreckage and William Lewis lit the torch to send whatever remained up in flames.

You briefly close your eyes and sink further onto the couch as you reach for your cell phone and scan your thumbprint to unlock it. The screen immediately flashes to the last thing you'd read, a message from your sponsor that sent your mind reeling and turned any sense of stability you might have had upside down.

[_Hey girl, I'm sorry I've been out of touch. I've hit a rough patch right now, and I don't think I should sponsor you anymore. Don't give up on the program]_

You reread the words over and over again, in a desperate attempt to understand what had just happened. Nicole had been the cornerstone of whatever saving grace you did have in New York. You'd rarely hesitate to apply the term _friend_ to your relationship, as she was a busy mom with three kids and minimal time for a social life, but she'd helped you through some of your darkest beginnings in the program once you'd finally swallowed your pride, and at your Captain's insistence, approached someone to ask for sponsorship in Gambler's Anonymous.

You _knew_ something was off lately. She's been scarce at meetings the past few weeks, although you'd been frequently absent from your normal crew yourself, choosing to tag along with Nate at a time more convenient for your ever-changing schedule. Nicole had been wager-free for going on eight years, and although she never outright used the word _relapse, _there was no other way for your mind to interpret her message. Those words reflected your worst fears for yourself, and it terrified you, because it only magnified the reality of the situation: you were walking a fine line of addiction, and all it would take would be one misstep for you to lose everything you'd worked so hard for.

…

"Down here at night, it's like a ghost town…" Fin observes as turns around and takes in his surroundings, with you and Nick close behind.

The same Saturday night you'd been wallowing on the couch in misery, a girl name Amelia Albers was brutally gang raped by a cohort of unknown assailants. She was an ensign in the Coast Guard, a product of a long line of military royalty, and coupled with her commander's pointed efforts to block your investigation, her story was anything but conclusive. She had pointed the finger at a group of cooks she had danced with at the bar, but your afternoon spent on base was enough to reveal that there was more to the story than Amelia was willing to divulge. It just left the question of _what_.

"Well, Amelia could have been attacked anywhere." Nick chimes in, and he's right, but the evidence and examination had given you enough to at least narrow it down when you retraced her steps.

"Yeah, but… I mean, she had broken up glass and gravel in her back, they had her on the ground…" You trail off once Nick makes it clear he's preoccupied with his ringing phone and no longer listening to your tirade.

"It's DC calling…" He justifies, "Sorry, excuse me"

DC this late at night could only mean one thing. You tried not to think about Maria much, if ever. Especially back when you and Nick were _involved_, it only meant the daily reminder that you were dragging your teeth across the skin of someone else's husband, even if they were in the middle of an ambiguous separation, divorce, or something of the like. It didn't change the facts, and you may have been a lot of things in your life, but a homewrecker sure as hell would never be one of them.

You could tell yourself all day long that it's not eavesdropping if the conversation is being held out in public, but regardless of how you title it, you still hang on to his every word. It's easy to catch the gist of the conversation, that it's all about the custody arrangement, and switching weekends, but it's still that reminder in your gut that Nick has a wife, and a kid, and a _family_.

"Maria causin' trouble again?" Fin leans in and whispers to you, and it snaps you back to attention.

"Sounds like it." You mutter back.

"Damn, I don't know why he puts up with this."

"Well he still—" _He still loves her, _you can't bring yourself to say it. Nick loves his wife, his maybe-soon-to-be ex-wife, and that's just the kind of guy he is. He's _loyal, _to Maria, to his kids, even to Olivia. It's what made you love him and hate him all wrapped into one. Much to your relief, Nick says an abrupt goodbye before Fin has a chance to ask any questions about the unspoken end of your observation, and you quickly end the side conversation before Nick can catch wind of the gossip.

"Is everything alright?" Fin calls out to Nick as rejoins the circle.

"Word of advice…" Nick announces with a sarcastic laugh as he brushes past you and heads straight for the bar, "Don't get divorced."

"I think I'm good." You shrug to Fin, and the two of you share a laugh as you rush to catch up with Nick.

…

Later that afternoon, you wind up at the hospital with Olivia. You had done about everything in your power to avoid being in an interview with her after the disasters that had come of your last ventures together, but it was clear that after the horrors that Amelia had been put through, sending a male detective to speak with her was out of the question, so it left you with no other choice but to join forces.

You sit pensively on the opposite bed as Olivia holds out the tablet, flipping through the photos you'd secured of the alleged men at the bar and asking Amelia for a positive identification, although you weren't so sure these were even the guys you should be looking at. You studied her face as she gazed at the photos, and an uneasy feeling crept into to the pit of your stomach; she showed no emotion while making the ID. This blank, stoic façade… well, you were the queen of tamping down your emotions, but even you couldn't conceal a reaction when presented with a visual of Charlie Patton, and you'd be hard pressed to find any girl who could face her attackers without some sort of recoil.

She admitted to dancing with them, flirting with them, but something doesn't sit right with you, and you press a little harder, asking specifics about whether or not these three men could have been her attackers. She backpedalled quickly, none to your surprise, and you continued to probe with question after question about the events of that night.

But it was the _'maybe we should just let this go'_ that sent knots into the pit of your stomach, and you knew the sentiment all too well. You'd said it to yourself a thousand times, enough times to where you believed it was the case for yourself even if you'd never allow another girl to say the same.

"No, I _let_ myself get drunk. We were dancing… and… okay, so maybe we made out a little bit"

_I let myself get drunk, I let this happen to myself. I let him take advantage of me. I could have stopped it. It put myself in a bad situation. I shouldn't have let this happen. _

"Did they rape you?" You swallowed hard, your words filled with the compassion you felt for Amelia.

"I'm an ensign! I going to get dishonorably discharged. I'm going to let my family down. My _father."_

_I'm a __detective__. If I report this, nobody will believe me. I shouldn't have gotten myself into this situation. I'm supposed to be fair, not to let my sister come out above the law. This happened because I was doing something illegal. I'm going to be in trouble too. He'll turn this back around on me. I agreed to something illegal. I'll lose everything I worked for if I try to fight this. I can't, I can't, I can't… _

"I know how hard this is. But you've got to try to find a way to deal with it." Olivia lays a hand on Amelia's arm and looks to her with tears in her eyes. And it's in that moment that you realize, all three of you have something in common. Something you would never wish on _anyone, _but have, in your own way, shape, or form, had to learn to _deal with_.

To them, it's aired out in public, their worst moments being relieved on the news and in the imaginations of the people around them. You can't say you haven't done it, allowed yourself to wonder exactly what had happened to Olivia during those four days. No one knew anything other than the speculations; Cragen had guarded that file under lock and key, although no one would dare look inside even if presented with the opportunity. But your safety is that your your secret is locked somewhere deep inside, where no one can ever picture you in your most vulnerable moments. Where you'd buried it all those years ago and dealt with it alone, without the beaucoups of support and sympathy that had been poured out for Olivia these last few months.

Sometimes you wonder how things would be if you'd just released all of those secrets that had spent the past few years piling up, how much better you might feel to not have to hide. But you're quickly reminded there's nothing you can reveal without implicating your own stint a dirty cop, and right now as much as you want to share your own ventures into self-blame with Amelia, you can't with Olivia here. Not after all these years of pretending.

"I should have just taken it. I should have let them do what they did to me and I should have shut up about it." Amelia resolved, her voice laced with defeat, and you've missed the conversation in between, but just that phrase is enough to send a knife through your heart.

You shake your head over you disbelief in hearing those words so laden with self-blame. _No one_ deserves to be taken advantage of by men she was supposed to trust, regardless of the events preceding the assault.

You just wish you could convince yourself to believe that it also held true for that night three years ago.

…

"So she just… texted you? That's it?" Nate asks incredulously, tapping his fingers against the countertop.

"Yeah." You sigh, scrubbing a hand across your face. You're still trying to wrap your mind around the whole thing, your sponsor up and quitting on you, and who better to understand than someone who had walked the program himself. And so once again, you find yourself on the same barstool on a Monday night, pouring your heart out to a listening ear as soon as you were given the opportunity to break free from the precinct.

"Are you going to find new sponsor?"

You shrug. "I don't know. Maybe eventually, but… things are going well right now, you know? I'm okay."

"_Amanda_." He presses, his eyes bearing into you with an urgency you'd never seen before. "You can't stay sober on yesterday's sobriety."

"Oh, is that something you picked up in AA?" You tease, taking a swig from your glass for good measure.

"You caught me." He grins. "But Amanda, you _need_ a sponsor. Now is going to be when you're the most vulnerable, when you don't have anyone to turn to."

"Well, I have you, don't I?" You reason.

"Are you asking me to sponsor you?"

You bite your lip. _Are you? _While you hadn't really given much calculated thought to the idea, you wouldn't deny that it had crossed your mind a time or two over the weekend while considering your options. Nate _was _essentially your closest friend in the program, one of the few people you were comfortable sharing with, even if your primary interaction did come when you were loitering at his counter. And aside from the archaic rules about sponsors being of the same gender, you didn't really see any reason why it _couldn't_ work.

He seems to sense your hesitation, and interrupts your attempts to process when he cements his offer. "Because… if you're asking… then I'm accepting." He winks at you, shooting you that same grin that's always served to put you at ease and assure you that he's looking out for you.

A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth, and finally, you give in. "Well then… maybe I am."


	15. Chapter 15

**Again, THANK YOU for all of your sweet words, and I hope you enjoy this chapter! We're coming up on around Rapist Anonymous time, so things are about to get rocky...**

* * *

The problem was, it had all been your idea.

Washington DC was, figuratively speaking, even a smaller town than Loganville. Everyone knew _everyone, _and as long as you had the right connections, desired information was no further than the tip of your fingers. And _that_ is why, and only why, you'd suggested this avenue as a suitable way to gain more insight as to exactly why Amelia was being targeted by the military for her own assault. You'd squirmed when Maria had come into the precinct, grabbing Zara by the hand and whisking her away with some excuse to remove both of you from the situation so Nick could have some privacy to discuss his request and you didn't have to face the wife of the man you'd spent the summer screwing.

And it had turned out so horribly wrong.

Nick had done exactly what you'd suggested, the plan of ingenuity that you were so proud of. You were being resourceful. Taking the initiative to think outside the box, and come up with a plan that would seal the case for your squad, and for Amelia. _That'll show 'em_.

You'd followed Olivia and Barba to the bar after the opening day of testimony. The counselor spouted off his anxieties about how terribly the day had gone, but you and Liv both tried everything you could to reassure him of your confidence in his prosecution and of the solidity of the case. You _had_ them, the bastards, and if Maria came through with some eleventh-hour information, it would only hammer the last nail into their coffin.

"I might have something that can help" Nick announces as he struts in and drops the file in front of Barba, his face displaying that same pride that you felt for your ingenuity. "Taverts testimony at a military hearing—"

"Stop, stop! No… Stop. Talking." Barba hisses, and you and Nick both shoot him a look of confusion. If he would just _listen _long enough for you to explain… "You almost tripped over the Garrity Rule. _Everything_ in this file is dirty. An officer can't invoke in a military hearing, so the courts consider this testimony to be compelled… coerced."

"So, the statements cannot be used in a criminal prosecution." Olivia finishes. _Of course she knew that little loophole. Of course. _

"If I even so much as _look_ at these files, I have to recuse myself from the case. Mistrial. Game Over."

Your jaw drops just as far as your pride as Barba and Olivia continue to lay out just how much you've screwed up. _Again_. You sneak a peek over at Nick to find that his look of satisfaction has quickly faded to disbelief, and you have no choice but to own up to your own responsibility in this mistake. It's a back and forth, as you apologize, Nick rationalizes, and Barba holds firm that you two have royally screwed up in even _thinking_ about using this file, eventually leading to Nick being kicked off the case after admitting that he'd snuck a peek inside.

Shit... shitshitshit.

Barba wastes no time before making his swift exit, wanting nothing more to do with the two of you after this unwitting stunt you pulled. And Olivia is quick to follow suit, muttering some excuse about dinner with Cassidy, whatever. Their absence leaves just the two of you, side by side at a bar counter in some strange full circle déjà vu, and your gut tells you to run away from the discomfort at hand, but this is _Nick_, and so much has become uncertain between the two of you over the past few months that you just want to make sure that you clear the air before you go. You bite your lip and glance over to where he's hunched over, hand firmly wrapped around his glass of whiskey, and it's undeniable that he's fuming underneath his silent seething.

"I'm sorry, Nick…" Your voice is barely above a whisper when you speak, your fingertips tapping absently against your near-empty glass as you stare straight ahead.

"We almost blew this case. What were you _thinking_, Rollins?" _Rollins_. You were Rollins to him now.

"What was _I_ thinking?" You're a little taken aback by the sudden shift. "Come on, you didn't know either. _You _are the one who got that file from Maria. Look, I know it was my fault, but you are _just_ as responsible_._"

"It was your idea!"

"Are you really going to go there, Nick? _Really_?"

You study his face, his teeth digging into his bottom lip, and you can tell he's holding back. Part of you wants to hear it, what he's _really _thinking, about this, and you, and both of you, and how Maria fits into it all after the two of you had dabbled in some sort of gray area when he wasn't entirely unattached and things aren't so certain anymore.

"How do you know that Maria didn't set you up? You're really going to trust her now, after all the shit she's pulled? Are you really that blind, to think that she might not have known all along that she was screwing us?"

"Hey, you don't get to talk about my family." He snaps as he rises up off his barstool and puffs out his chest. It's not that you think he's going to hurt you, you know he would never, but you can't help but grow a little uneasy at his defensive stance. Your trust in angry men has been broken too many times. But you can't let it phase you now.

"Right." You stand to your feet, going toe-to-toe with him. It was an honest mistake, and _he_ was the one out of line this time. "I don't _want_ to talk about your family."

You spin on your heels and storm out without another word.

…

You can't get his words out of your head.

You've never been the kind of girl who has a problem with tension. You ran away without even a thought of making amends in Atlanta, you'd shut your own mother out for years, and even in your growing irritation with the rest of your squad, you felt no need to "talk it out" with Olivia. You did your thing the very best way you knew how, and if someone took issue with it, that was their own responsibility to sort out.

Through the rest of the trial, Nick hardly says a word to you, only when absolutely necessary. And you _will _not be the kind of girl to come back groveling at his feet, because it's clear that whatever happened between the two of you is undeniably over, but you can't take the cold shoulder from the man who was supposed to be your friend.

You don't bother calling; you don't want him to have the choice whether or not to accept your olive branch. You just want him to _listen _to you, away from Olivia and Maria and the listening ears of the precinct. It's how you find yourself on his street a few days later, after the trial has concluded and the dust has settled. The angry words you'd exchanged are still heavy on your mind, and just want to make things right with him, as a friend.

You shove your hands into the pockets of your coat and walk down his block. The sound of voices carries through the crisp fall air, and you stop in your tracks once you make out the shadow of Nick tucking his daughter into the backseat of Maria's car. You fold your arms protectively across your chest and linger into the shadows while waiting for him to finish his goodbyes.

He slams the door with one more wave to Zara, and you watch as he turns to Maria. Your breath hitches in your throat as you watch the situation in front of you. Nick rubbing Maria's shoulder, her reaching in to give him a lingering embrace, him kissing her gently on the side of the head…

Kissing his _wife. _

…

"You want your usual?"

You nod without ever looking up. It's taking everything in your power not to cry right now, after everything that's happened this week and you're hurt and upset and you can't even figure out what you're feeling. And you _don't _want to talk about it, but the bar is about the only safe place you know right now, and the temptation is high tonight.

"Amanda, what's up?" Nate asks, obviously picking up the need to be concerned. You shake your head, and he reaches over to tip your chin up, just in time to send those hard-fought tears streaming down your face.

"Hey… c'mere, c'mon." He coaxes you, holding out a hand to guide you off of your stool, and to your surprise, takes you behind the counter and up a narrow stairway.

Normally, you'd be on high alert, but this is Nate. He's always shown you the utmost care and proven himself trustworthy time and time again, so you let him lead you up into his loft apartment above the bar.

He parks you on the couch and hands you a glass of water before settling in beside you. It's not the alcohol you came here for, but for all intents and purposes, it's probably what you needed.

"It's okay, Amanda. Go ahead, get it off your chest. What's going on?"

So you tell him. Everything. He's heard most of it before, your incessant frustration with Olivia Benson, your confusion over Nick Amaro, and your overarching struggle to make sense of the world around you. But the events of the last week come out like word vomit: Nick, and Maria, and Barba, and everything that has gone wrong to throw you into this whirlwind of emotion you're currently trying to claw your way through.

He listens intently, nodding his head at the appropriate moments and scoffing in disbelief when you tell him about your fight with Nick at the bar. He's on your side; he makes that more than clear, and with every affirming reaction, you give him a little bit more.

"As your sponsor, let me ask you… does this make you want to gamble?" Is the first question that comes out of Nate's mouth.

You narrow your eyes and look back at him, a little pissed off at his self-proclaimed patron saint of GA act. "This has nothing do with that."

"Do you need a meeting?"

"No! I just need…" You trail off, because you're not quite sure _what_ you need right now.

"The best time to go to a meeting is when you least feel like going…"

"Thanks, but I've got this." You snap, moving to get up off the couch. You don't want the third degree right now, you just want to be listened to, and if not that, then to be left alone.

Nate quickly follows you, darting in front of you and blocking your escape from his apartment. He crosses his arms and leans against the door, shooting you a crooked grin. "Amanda… I care about you. You're my friend, now you're my sponsee… you're smart, and you're ambitious, and you're beautiful—" You duck your head and blush a little at the notion. "—and I don't like to hear of anyone making you feel like you're not."

You chew on your bottom lip as you ruminate on his words. It's been a long time since you've been sweet-talked like this, and it sends shivers up your spine to think that _someone _has that kind of faith in you, because it sure doesn't feel like anyone else in your life does.

You're still rendered speechless when he leans forward and brushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "Don't worry about what Nick thinks, or Olivia, or that lawyer. You're a great detective, I can tell."

A tiny smile spreads across your face, and Nate's words serve to put you at ease for the first time since you'd left the courthouse this afternoon. He looks at you with such care and admiration that it nearly makes your knees give way underneath you, and your mind is spinning, and you just want to feel _something._

And you don't know how it happens, it's all a blur, but it doesn't take long until you're horizontal on the couch, arching your back as he slides his cold hands under the thin fabric of your shirt. His mouth peppers open-mouthed kisses on your neck as you drag your nails across his back, and it's good, it's _so_ good. Damn it, you've missed the sheer idea of human affection so much, but this is the last thing you were prepared for tonight.

But for the first time in forever, you have nothing to lose.


	16. Chapter 16

**Yay Chapter 16, you guys are great, love you all, please leave a review, that's about it :)))**

* * *

[Sorry I had to leave, got called into work early]

You'd woken up a few hours earlier to the vibrations of your phone, and it only took mere seconds before you were scrambling around the studio apartment, throwing on your clothes and sprinting to the location of a crime scene. You'd somehow managed not to wake your bedmate up in the process, so you slip out the door without saying goodbye.

It was probably best that way.

It's not like you were swimming in a sea of regret, you just weren't sure _what _to think at this point, and you'd prefer to have some time and some caffeine and maybe a shower before you had to do any sorting it out. Maybe you were just naïve, but however unexpected and unplanned it may have been, you weren't so sure what happened last night was a bad thing. The unmistakable soreness between your legs, the glorious beginnings of bruises splayed across your hipbones, and the sheen of sweat that had trickled from your skin as your let the shower wash over you were quick to tell you otherwise. But you'd had a few too many, the memories were fuzzy at best, and you cringed to think about what other lapses in your memory you had yet to uncover.

You push your phone to the corner of your desk and attempt to write up your initial report from this morning's case, but your concentration is short lived. Your eyes drift every chance you get, every time a shadow falls across the screen and gives the false illusion of an incoming message until finally, a response comes.

[Too bad, I was looking forward to waking up with you] You're a little taken aback by the forwardness in his response. To you, what happened last night was just _one of those things. _It happened, alright, and you might not be able to look the other party in the eye for quite awhile, but there's an overarching _no-harm-no-foul_ understanding behind it. Nate's been your friend, your sponsor, and you're a little embarrassed that in your distress, you allowed what happened to happen but it didn't change the fundamentals in your relationship.

[well sorry I spared you my morning breath]

[it's a shame. rain check?] Your breath hitches in the back of your throat at the insinuation of a _next time_. Because one time, the first time, in a flurry of hurt and emotion and a hint of one-sided intoxication, that's one thing. But another round, a time marked by planning and intent, that's a whole 'nother ballgame.

And you're not quite sure if it's one you're ready to play.

You turn your phone upside down and push it to the side; you're not going to deal with this right now, you _can't, _not until you give yourself a chance to come down from the high and the emotion and the confusion of the night before. You glance up just in time to see Olivia walking back into the squadroom, carrying on with Nick close behind her.

"Oh good, everyone's here." Liv muses to herself before raising her voice above the dull roar of the room. "Hey guys? Can I have your attention for a moment?"

You begrudgingly drop your pen and spin around in your chair, affording her your reluctant but undivided attention. _Here it comes: She's engaged. Maybe married. She's pregnant. She's moving to Timbuktu (you could only wish to be so lucky)._

"Brian and I are throwing a dinner party this weekend. It's not anything fancy, but just a little something to celebrate getting settled in our new apartment… and we have a few exciting announcements to make and it would mean a lot for all of you to be there."

_Ha_. So _that_ was it? A dinner party at Olivia and Brian's apartment… you could think of a thousand things you'd rather be doing on a Sunday evening, including but not limited to a dentist visit or getting mauled by wild animals. No thanks, no way in _hell _were you going to be roped into donating your well-deserved time off to the soon-to-be Mr. and Mrs. Cassidy and your asshole of an ex-something.

"Who's bringin' the booze?" Fin raises an eyebrow in suspicion, and you stifle your own laughter at his straightforwardness. He's clearly on the same page as you; if he's going to be subjected to such torture, he needs to get the alcohol availability straight.

Olivia laughs. "I've got you covered, Fin"

"Yeah, that sounds great, Liv." Nick says, and ugh, _enough_ of the blinded puppy act, could he just _drop _it? His head was so far up her ass you were surprised he could even function this way. "Zara's with Maria this weekend... I'll be there."

Your captain announces his RSVP as well, with the subsequent invitation extended to bring his new lady friend along. You had to admit, _that_ sure made you curious. You'd heard the chatter around the precinct, and the secondhand report that Liv had been introduced to this mystery woman and you were nothing but intrigued to think of what kind of companion your captain could have found himself. But still, not curious enough to socialize with certain coworkers outside of mandatory time just to find out.

[my shift ends at 5, i'll come by when I'm done]

…

"Hi…" You shove your hands in your pocket and approach the counter, where Nate methodically dumps and washes and dries a conglomeration of empty glasses. All day you've been preparing yourself for this, to face him and it not be awkward or uncomfortable or even indicative of your apprehension, but now that you're standing here in front of him, you're reduced to nothing more than red-faced and tongue-tied.

"Amanda! I thought you weren't going to come." His face lights up when he sees you and he greets you warmly, but you wince a bit at the insinuation. Maybe you'd revealed too much about yourself, too much about your long-standing habit of running away when things became too threatening and he can read you like a book.

The night is in full swing now, the bar packed with shoulder to shoulder patrons, and Nate's trusty right-hand men filling the orders just as quickly as they could manage. You glance at your watch: Almost 1am, a far cry from the 5pm you'd promised him this morning, before this new case had sucked you in and thrown you down a rabbit hole you'd barely managed to claw your way out of. You could have texted, you could have at _least _texted, but your nerves had gotten the best of you, and quite frankly, after having a whole day to ruminate on it, you'd almost talked yourself out of showing your face here tonight at all.

"Hey… Josh, Manny, I'm taking off for the night." Nate calls over to his crew as he grabs a dishrag and dries off his hands. He grins at you, and you smile back a little cautiously, waiting for him to give some last minute cleanup instructions to his employees before he motions for you to follow him upstairs.

_Upstairs… okay… hang in there, 'Manda, _you give yourself a silent pep talk. Because last time you were upstairs, the only other time you'd seen the top floor of this establishment, it landed you into this mess of confusion and you weren't quite sure if you were about to walk right into the same trap all over again.

"So, as your sponsor, let me ask you… did you gamble tonight?" The question comes up as soon as you have the privacy this conversation requires.

You proudly confirm your victory, that for one more day, you've remained stable and steadfast on a journey that sometimes still seems just as daunting as it did on day one. The thing about Nate, though, is that he _understood_. He knew what it meant to fight those demons from wake to sleep, and the sheer exhaustion that came from throwing all of your effort into an unending fight.

It's been one year, nine months, and two weeks since your last wager, and you proceed to announce it proudly, giving yourself a much-reminder. To you, that's something worth being proud of, one of the few things in your life that's ever been that way. Nate smiles back and congratulates you, spitting out some overused mantra about _one day at a time_, but regardless of its staleness, it's filled with truth.

You engage in small talk for awhile, complete with Nate sprinting downstairs to round you up some French fries and chicken wings once you confess that your lunch consisted of some questionable Chinese leftovers and you'd worked straight through dinnertime. He laughs as you gobble it up, not realizing your own hunger until the food was placed in front of you.

"Hey…" He thinks out loud once the two of you have caught your breath and you're licking the remnants of buffalo sauce off of your fingers. "What are you doing this weekend?"

You stifle a grin. "Well there's this dinner party at Olivia's on Sunday…."

He makes a face – he's heard all of your complaints before, he knows the inner workings of your squad and how insufferable they have all been to deal with lately.

"You need an excuse?"

"Couldn't hurt."

"You've met Lena, right? From NA? I was her first sponsor in AA; she's celebrating a year of sobriety at her meeting on Sunday. It's a big deal for her—for me—and I know that alcohol isn't one of your core issues, but it would mean a lot if you would come with me, give her some moral support."

"Oh, do you make it a habit of sponsoring women?" You tease, batting your eyelashes a bit, and _damn it, Amanda, you better stop that. _

"Only the pretty ones."

Again, you're taken aback, and an involuntary shudder makes its way up your spine as he leans in and brushes a hair behind your ear. Your eyes meet his and it's closer, closer, _closer_ until your lips crash together for the second time in as many days. His arms snake around your waist and your mirror the motion, settling into a comfortable rhythm as he nips at your bottom lip and you respond by pressing yourself even more deliberately into him.

"We shouldn't be doing this…" You laugh breathily against his lips. "You're my sponsor. This is definitely not allowed."

"I never pictured you to be a girl who cares much for rules…" He pulls back long enough for you to catch the twinkle in his eyes, and well, he's sure got you figured out, hasn't he.

"I can find a new sponsor…" you murmur, your eyes darting to the window and the snow flurries beginning to swirl in front of you. You can feel him pressed against you, radiating warmth in a stark contrast to the chill from the outside, and suddenly you want to feel _more_.

"After tonight?" His voice is cautious yet challenging, with a touch of vulnerability weaved in, as if he's afraid of what you might say. And the power that it gives you is incredible, knowing that he's entirely at your mercy right now and that _you_ can dictate your own fate. But oh, there's no doubt in your mind now.

Your response is wordless, your nimble fingers attaching to the hem of his shirt and lifting it over his head, and any hesitation is long lost as instinct takes over and you lose yourself completely.


	17. Chapter 17

**Sorry it's been awhile! Lost my mojo for awhile, but don't worry, I'm not forgetting about this story! This is very much a "filler" chapter with the beginning of Rapist Anonymous, but it's about to get really real in the next couple chapters. Excited to write it. **

**As always, thanks again for your sweet support and comments. I love hearing from all of you! If you're on twitter, stop by and say hi! I'm cheertennis12 there as well!**

* * *

In the end, it was your anger that won out over your obligation.

Actually, it wasn't _anger _per say, but the constant disillusionment you felt whenever you stepped foot in the squad room. Part of you almost felt a twinge of guilt, like there was some magnetic pull beckoning you to pull up a chair to Olivia Benson's dining room table and plaster a smile on your face whenever she announced… whatever it was she had to announce. Part of you wanted to bond with your squad again; for a community that had become so tight-knit over the summer, you couldn't have felt further away from them now.

But no. Because the prospect of time with Nate, and the opportunity for this new and exciting thing in your life to flourish, and a break from the constant irritation you felt inside the sixteenth precinct was much more appealing.

"Hi, my name is Lena, and I'm an alcoholic." You join in with the rest of the chorus, _Hi Lena_. "I've been sober for… wow. Almost a year now. It's been a long journey. I started in NA about two years ago. Nate, my first sponsor in AA, who is also here tonight… he told me that there are many doors, but they all lead us to the same room. And life, it's all about opened doors, and closed doors, and maybe an open window or two…"

She lets out a chuckle, and you glance over at Nate, who is nodding his head eagerly. You can't help but smile, because you can just imagine those words coming out of his mouth. The stale platitudes, they're his specialty, but there's a strange comfort in the words as she says them. On the other side of Lena sits another participant, one who seems to hang onto her every word. _Gene… Gene something, _maybe; he had introduced himself to you as you mingled before the meeting, resisting the urge to announce to everyone you met that _hey, I have issues, but alcohol isn't one of them, promise. _

"My life has had a lot of closed doors. With my…. my family, and jobs, and friends and relationships. It hasn't been easy, and I turned to alcohol and to pills to help me deal with the things in my life that I couldn't control, and that just made me… even more out of control. I lost friends, I lost jobs, I almost lost my life, but… my higher power was looking out for me. And He might have closed some doors in my life, but that just lead me to the other doors that he had opened for me, and that led me to all of you, and… you, and this program, you have all saved my life. So Nate… Gene… all the rest of you, thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for saving me…"

She continues on, hitting on the highs and lows of her life thus far, and confirming your detective suspicions that the man sitting beside her was a little more than a program friend. Alcohol and pills weren't your problem, but you identified with a lot of her qualification. The emptiness, the loss of control, the broken relationships, you'd seen and done and felt it _all_. And you made sure to tell her that, when you'd gone out to dinner on what felt strangely like a double date, and again when she'd interrupted you in a compromising moment with Nate to bang on your door and disclose the unimaginable to you, the abuse becoming yet another thing you now had in common.

…

You tiptoe into your bedroom as the sun begins to creep over the horizon, nearly making it to your closet before the floorboards creaked under your weight. Nate stirs, and you freeze for a moment, praying that he would go back to sleep, because you certainly weren't in the mood for an explanation at this point (and with the ER being much quicker than you'd anticipated, you'd skipped out on the breakfast you'd promised to bring).

An uneasy feeling had settled into the pit of your stomach while you'd camped out in the ER waiting room, one of fear and dread of different corners of your life crashing together. There was Nate, and the program, and then there was your job and your squad. You weren't too keen on your two worlds merging, and you knew that it was bound to explode on you, because, well, that was just your life in a nutshell. Your being at the hospital with Lena and assuming the detective role would only delay the inevitable by a few hours; the case would land directly on Manhattan SVU's desk first thing in the morning, and it was only a matter of time before they would begin probing into Lena's life, and in turn, your own.

"Everything alright?" Nate mumbles into his pillow. The mattress dips underneath your weight as you climb into bed beside him, and _damn it, _this was… awkward. This whole 'going to sleep beside someone' thing was never your cup of tea; you didn't just come home to someone already curled up in your bed and engage in pillow talk like you were an old married couple. It felt strange, and stiff, and maybe even a little bit… calming.

"Yeah, yeah, it's…" You fold your hands across your chest and stare up at the ceiling, collecting your thoughts. You don't want to reveal too much for Lena's sake and the sensitivity of the case, but the pressure is building in your chest, and you're a little stressed, and Lena called you her _sister _so quickly after you'd met, and Nate is _here_, in your _bed_ and— "I took Lena home. She's alright, a little shaken up, but physically okay."

"Do you think Gene really did it?"

You press your lips together, this time out of caution. On one hand, Nate was here; he'd likely heard the entire disclosure through the paper-thin walls of your apartment. But on the other hand, the sensitivity of this situation was heightened even more by the nature of your job, and the knowledge that this case file would land on your desk first thing this morning and you'd be bound by legality not to discuss your investigation with a civilian. "I don't know. My squad will look into it this morning."

He rolls over on his side to face you and looks at you seriously. "Hey. Don't forget. Respect the program, Amanda. Anything she shares in meetings doesn't leave that room."

"Yeah…" Your words come out in a timbre barely above a whisper, and you're not sure _what _to say. There's a still small voice in your head that's pushing you to dig deeper then the obvious, but it's overshadowed by the way your heart aches for Lena. You know what it's like to consent to one thing only to have your world come crashing down when your vulnerability was just fodder for someone else's sick fantasy.

…

"You look like hell…" Your partner chuckles as he drops the double-shot-nonfat-no-whip grande caramel latte you'd texted him and begged for onto the stack of papers spread out in front of you.

"Ugh. I feel like hell." You bury your head in your hands, and thankyouverymuch, Fin. You didn't need anyone to remind you of your sleepless night and absolute exhaustion. You'd tossed and turned for a pointless hour and a half after you'd crashed into bed, and for once in your life, you were the first one at the precinct the next morning.

You'd texted Liv from the ER, just the basics. After all, she _was _the lead detective in your squad and Cragen's unofficial number two, and you wanted at least some paper trail in a case that your involvement in had the potential to get messy. Aside from that, Fin was the only other person you'd told about your midnight escapade, in as little detail as you could afford in your 7am '_hey, came in early, didn't get much sleep, can you bring me coffee on your way in?'_ text message. In your mind, it was better to get your details straight and tidy up the casefile before anyone else had a chance to touch it, so after an awkward morning-after goodbye and a quick shower, you'd thrown your hair into a bun and set out for work, only realizing once you'd punched in and unloaded your bag just how desperately you needed a caffeine boost.

"How was the party last night? Did I miss anything earth-shattering?" _When's the wedding? Do you want to go in together on a baby present? _You so desperately wanted to add your snark, but you exercise an incredible amount of self-restraint in front of your partner.

"Nah, nothing like that." Fin grins. "Cassidy got his shield back." The excitement lights up your face, because despite the residual awkwardness in your relationship with Olivia's man after your undercover encounter, he seemed to be a solid guy, and you were elated to see him getting a well-deserved second chance. "But he's assigned at IAB."

You wince with that bombshell, and Fin mirrors your expression. There were only a few departments places that any detective would consider a worse assignment, but it was a certainly a step up from the Bronx courthouse, albeit a shot to anyone's ego.

"And Liv's blew that Sergeant's exam outta the water. NYPD's letting her stay on at SVU. She's gonna supervise us, I guess." Fin's tone is pleased, matched by the pride that lights up his face. To him, it's a victory; to you… not so much.

You draw in a sharp breath, trying to temper your reaction. The fact that Olivia had applied for the exam was no secret; you'd heard the chatter around the precinct and Nick giving her a pep talk the afternoon before she was to take the exam. You'd kind of seen it as her way of bowing out gracefully: taking the exam and using it as a noble excuse for a transfer to another, less stressful department. There was no way that NYPD would allow a detective to supervise her squad for fear of nepotism, but apparently the department's shortage of warm bodies was not working in your favor.

But _Liv… _as your _supervisor. _The concept felt strange, and so, _so_ off. You questioned her competence as a detective, let alone a sergeant who could be trusted to make solid decisions after he recent display of poor judgment. You were shocked that Cragen had signed off on it, let alone suggested for it, but then again: who were you to speak anything against The Great Olivia Benson.

The sound of voices carries in from the hallway, and you and Fin both jolt to attention in time to see Nick and Olivia walk in, matching each other step for step. Your stomach twists into knots as you run through the basics of your previous night: _Lena. Program Friend. Rape Disclosure. Keep Nate out of it. It's alright, Amanda, you're being a friend, you took her outcry, no big deal._

You'd bowed out of Olivia's party with the excuse of a Gamblers Anonymous commitment, and no one was brazen enough to question you when it came to your dedication to the program. But those details about the bar, about Nate in your bed, about what you were doing instead of swinging by Olivia's as soon as your meeting had finished like you'd halfway promised, it was all about to come to light, and you prayed, _prayed _that Lena's current mess would be enough distraction from the tangled web you had woven for yourself and that Lena wouldn't implicate your personal life when she came in for questioning this morning.

"Unlike the rest of us, Rollins was actually working last night." Liv makes it clear that your case was first on the docket this morning for discussion, and even though you expected it, _shit_. And was that her way of throwing a little shade at you about your absence from her little shindig?

"You caught a _case?" _Fin raises his eyebrows, as if he assumed your whining about sleeplessness and request for coffee was a result of generalized insomnia.

You glance around, take a deep breath, and dive right in to your downfall.


End file.
